The Gardener walks among the dandelions. She allows them to exist in her garden because they amuse her. She observes the dandelions as they commune with the bees. After the complicated plant sex that is pollination occurs, the dandelion blossoms undergo a transformation. They turn from yellow flowers to white poofs of fluff. The Gardener loves to watch the fluff blow away in the summer breeze carrying the seeds of a new generation.
Some think the Gardener mad for allowing these weeds to exist in her garden. They don’t understand that a flower cannot be a weed if it follows the Gardener’s design. She watches the bees among the dandelions move from flower to flower to… Is that a milkweed?
Is that a milkweed?
Is there a milkweed in her garden?
“THERE’S A MILKWEED IN MY GARDEN!”
The Gardener tromps toward the offending plant and yanks it up with a powerful pull. She glares at the filthy interloper, then casts it aside. She scans for more milkweeds hiding amongst her precious dandelions. Both are yellow flowers which transform into fluffy seeds, but milkweeds have sticky, white sap and are often taller than dandelions. The Gardener can tell the difference. She seeks out the milkweeds and rips them up with vengeance and fury.
The dandelions stand by, impotent in the Gardener’s rage. They can smell the stench of exposed roots and broken flesh. They don’t understand how so many flowers can be ripped up by the roots, while others remain untouched. The dandelions know that only the milkweeds are being taken away, but they don’t know how judgement can be passed against one flower over another.
“I am the Gardener,” she says aloud. “I decide what flowers grow and which weeds to cast aside.”
The Gardener piles up the corpses of milkweeds on her patio and sets about sweeping up the dry leaves from beneath her eucalyptus tree.