My current fascination is with dandelion clocks. Dandelions have had a lot of focus lately, saving them through no mow may, extolling their benefits to early pollinators, how if we hadn’t labelled them a weed, they’d probably be planted deliberately like similarly looking marigolds. And yes, this is all very important and there are plenty of articles and blogs out there about it and yes, please do leave some for the bees, they won’t take over your garden I promise.
But my focus is from a purely artistic and engineering angle. And not with their yellow petal phase, but the delicate seed head, childhood memory of blowing the clock off stage.
As I sat drawing amongst an expanse of dandelions, buttercups and speedwell on Beltane, I realised how utterly amazing the engineering of a dandelion seed head is. How each individual seed’s helicopter wings are the same size, and then they all perfectly nestle up against their neighbours to create that perfect sphere.
I’m sure you’re thinking, well yes, obviously, otherwise how would it be a sphere. But have you actually stopped, crouched down and really looked at a dandelion clock? Looked at how the seed attaches to the stem? How each seed has its own place in the sphere? How each of the threads in the wing are so fine yet without them the whole thing wouldn’t work (I’m sure there’s a botanical name for this, I’ll look it up later! )
So, next time you see a dandelion clock, just have a closer look, maybe even take a photo. Even better if it’s been raining, with the droplets caught in the threads. It will be worth it, I promise.
Noticing nature 