Dandelions make a fine tea.

I sit in a chair in my garage studio, just after midnight. Not in this chair. I've been staring at this chair for awhile tonight and at the quiet, cool darkness beyond it. Not for the first time.

The chair has been in my garage studio for a couple of years. Aubrey and I rescued it at a curb, put there by someone who decided it was of no value. It was of great value to me, because I've sat many hours in it, carving or painting.

It's always reminded me of dandelions.

Humans claim bits of planet for their own, appointing themselves gods of those bits, deciding what lives and what dies, what has value and what has not.

Often what dies first is dandelions.

Poppets find this very interesting.