A Fuzzy Little Globe

I took four careful steps down from the porch deck and onto the warm gravel path. Right where the grass begins stood a round dandelion puff, completely still in the quiet air. I paused. Was it as soft as woven wool? Slowly, I knelt down in the clover and reached out with both hands. I did not touch it. Instead, I leaned very close and let out a gentle puff of breath. Four tiny white parachutes lifted into the afternoon sun, drifting slowly toward the fence. I sat back on my heels, tilting my head to watch them float away.