I swept the mower across the grass. It was early spring, the first cut of the year. The lawn had grown tall and ragged, Yellow dandelion heads stood proud against the green. Now it needed cutting.

The first pass of the mower severed the stalks of grass. The second sent sent the blades dancing through the air. Soon I had finished the mowing and was ready to rake the lines of debris into neat piles. Then it caught my eye - a single dandelion nodding in the breeze.

I looked at the last flower. "You got another week," I told it.