Dandelions: Dorothy’s angle on pandemic time and space

Another week. Dandelions have turned into clocks and beech trees wear new leaves owning their space against remarkable blue skies. She’s walked more miles this week than she has for years. Out in the refuge of the hills filling the precious bellows of her lungs with a May air that swithers between warmth and chill. Oh she drinks those hills. Looking out over Threipmuir, Black Hill, West Kip she feels herself expanding into their rolling slopes, out out beyond the reservoirs, beyond Ben Ledi, Ben Lomond, Ben Vorlich mountain peaks she hadn’t known you could see - to rise wordless into the seamless blue skies and be blown on the fresh easterlies dandelion seed not wanting to land.

“Pandemic Perspectives”