Written by Joy Zhang from Iolani School, Honolulu, Hawaii I step onto the prairie. The air is fresh. A wandering wind sweeps my hair across my face, hiding me momentarily. Before me, a field of dandelions blooms, rising from rich soil. I reach for one. Stubbornly, it resists– rooted as if it knows what I have done. If even a dandelion refuses me, what hope do I have— of release? of forgiveness? At last, risen, plucked, I gently blow upon the flower. The white pappi drift far,
