The Dandelion King

Taken from the April 20, 2010 edition of The New York Times.


The Dandelion King stood stately before his lawn chair throne, an oversized emerald robe hanging off his seven-year-old shoulders, stick-staff in hand. Poolsey the Beloved sat loyally by his side, tail wagging. With an outstretched neck, his majesty slowly surveyed the land before him, an eight-by-ten plot of earth that sat squarely in a perfect, eight-by-ten pool of light, a pastoral respite amid five-story brownstones that flanked its four sides. This was the young King's most favorite time of day--12:05 pm--when the sun floated directly above the yard, dispelling dark, angled shadows and warming the furry yellow faces of a hundred dandelions who reached toward Mother Sun with all their green-stemmed might. He smiled a toothy grin at Poolsey, who flopped to the ground to warm her belly in the newfound light. Knowing the moment would soon pass, the Dandelion King took his throne, stretched his bare legs and lifted a freckled face toward the sun, thankful that she took a minute's rest before beginning her westward descent.


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