Dandelion down

The dandelions are done, the down is flying over the meadow — May is saying goodbye. I took the flowers two weeks ago, on the yellowest day of all.

The oil is already infusing on the windowsill: forty days in the sun, and I turn the jar every day. I will not open it sooner — here time does the work instead of me.

The rabbits are convinced the meadow was arranged for them. I do not argue with the heads of the tasting department.