If I were a dandelion, I imagine my dreams would be of the bright, warm sunshine warming me, drying the sweet dew off my face. I suppose I would dream of children laughing as they run past me, their legs pumping and feet pounding in a a game of catch-me-if-you-can. I would dream of refreshing rain showers sending drops of nourishing water into the soil around me, sinking to my roots to quench my thirst. I most likely would dream of the day, when my seeds had reached maturity, and I would burst forth and float in ecstasy towards the Face of God till I came to rest in fertile soil to be born yet again. That would be the sweetest of dreams.