The clover

The clover

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The clover

Grandma said she's never seen so much clover in the yard. It must be the rain. I think it could also be Grandpa.

I love clover. Have loved it for a long time. Cool and lush and so soft that when Rory face planted into a bed of it, he didn't even cry.

There was a mockingbird perched on the power line singing out to another mockingbird far across the street, somewhere unseen in a tree. Rory said, "there he goes" when she finally quieted and glided down to the street sign.

Grandma told me there are two blue birds so blue they are periwinkle that come to her yard. She loves them and sits out on the porch watching them. The neighbor across the street has cardinals. I told her we have goldfinches. They come to the feeder for the thistle seed.

On a different visit

Some years ago

A cousin, my mother’s cousin, saw me looking for a four-leaf. What was I doing? I explained it to her. I’d never found a four-leaf, even though I looked often. I was unlucky, if only in that way.

And she said:

Never? Get out. They’re in the yard all the time. I’ll wrap some in foil and send them to you.

And that has stayed with me, that simple thing. Someone willing to wrap up her luck, that green four-leaf currency, and send it to me in the mail.

The old journal

The old journal