On the lawn of a public garden, in the warm spring sun, amidst the tender grass, the robust, toothed leaves of dandelions had sprouted.
One of them displayed a magnificent yellow flower, innocent, golden and serene like a May sunset.
After a while, the flower turned into a "showerhead": a light sphere, embroidered with feather crowns attached to seeds that were tightly packed in the center of the showerhead.
And how many conjectures the tiny seeds made. How many dreams the breeze made at dusk, when the first timid crickets sang their serenade.
"Where are we going to germinate?"
"Who knows?" Yes.
"Only the wind knows."
One morning, the showerhead was grabbed by the invisible and strong fingers of the wind.
The seeds were attached to their small parachute and flew away, caught by the air current.
"Goodbye... goodbye," the little seeds greeted each other.
While most landed on the good soil of orchards and meadows, one, the smallest of all, made a very short flight and ended up in a crack in the cement of a sidewalk.
There was a hint of dust deposited by the wind and rain, so small compared to the good, fat soil of the meadow.
"But it's all mine!" the seed said to itself.
Without a second thought, he snuggled up tight and got to work on the roots.
In front of the crack in the cement was a leaning, scribbled-on bench. A young man often sat on that very bench. He was a young man with a tormented face and a restless gaze.
Dark clouds weighed on his heart and his hands were always clenched into fists.
When he saw two jagged, tender green leaves pushing their way through the cement, he laughed bitterly: "You won't make it! You're just like me!" and stepped on them with his foot.
But the next day he saw that the leaves had risen and become four. From that moment on, he couldn't take his eyes off the stubborn and brave little plant. After a few days, the flower appeared, bright yellow, like a cry of happiness.
For the first time in a long time, the grieving young man felt the resentment and bitterness weighing on his heart begin to melt.
He raised his head and took a deep breath. He slammed his fist on the back of the bench and shouted, "Of course! We can do this!"
She felt like crying and laughing. She touched the small yellow flower head with her fingers.
Plants feel the love and kindness of humans. For the brave little Dandelion, the young man's caress was the most beautiful thing in life.
Don't ask the Wind why it brought you here.
Even if you're drowning in cement, work from your roots and live.
You are the message.
- Bruno Ferrero -
From: "Solo il Vento lo Sa", by Bruno Ferrero, Ed. Elledici.
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