The dandelion is one of the hardiest and longest-flowering plants. Despite being called a weed, I have always enjoyed seeing it scattered across fields and gardens.

Today, I sit with my sketchbook on the side of a grassy bank. I am in Devon, close to the sea on the South West Coast Path. Beyond the bank, there is a wildflower meadow. It is a dewy, mellow morning, and I have time to watch and draw the dandelion, hawksbill, and campion. The sun is rising and has just touched the tip of the hillside. Where I sit, at the foot of the bank, I am shaded like the grass and flowers.

The dandelions I am watching are damp, clamped shut like furled umbrellas. The sun heaves higher and touches the tips of the grasses. The dandelion leans just a little towards the sun and slackens its grip, one by one, as it unfolds its damp petals.

Legs stiff from sitting, I stand and move about, open my sketchbook, and draw. Time passes with careful concentration. The dandelion is now squat and open—a plump, yellow pillow for the bees.