Would That They Were

Mother and I were walking along a hilltop trail overlooking the Pacific near her home when she stopped us with an upraised hand, pointing out a flowering shrub. It was a good moment to pause, as our glasses were regrettably empty.

“I should like to conjure a Dandelion that resembles this,” she said. She regarded it for a moment, holding out her tumbler for a refill. “Would that be a Fiano?” she asked. 

“The wine is, yes,” I answered as I poured. “As for the plant, I’m not certain.”  

Mother looked pensive. “I shall look harder at this when I have the chance. I don’t know why I didn’t think of a multi-stemmed Dandelion before. I intend to work a small magic upon an ordinary Irish daisy, and place that in the back porch flowerpots.”

I nodded, considering this. “For what purpose?” I asked. I presumed I understood her reasoning, but with my mother there is always a risk to thinking you've parsed her thoughts correctly. 

“Because sometimes,” Mother observed, swirling the golden liquid her glass, “when one’s world is complex, one needs to make more than one wish at a time.”