Friday, July 23, 2010
The object #10 4-leaf Clover
One of my talents is finding 4-leaf clovers. They are lucky, you know.
Summertime, Maplewood Street, Pocatello, Idaho. A long time ago. I would roll out of bed, pull on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, and slip my brown, calloused feet into a pair of rubber sandals and pad into the kitchen. I'd pour out a bowl of Grapenuts, splash a little milk over the top and crunch, crunch, crunch my way through it, sitting on the back steps of the little house where we lived. Already, I could hear the high-pitched trill of summertime insects and smell the July heat, cooking the grass and the pavement.
My summertime world was a threadbare quilt, spread across the grass, under a weeping willow tree alive with ants and earwigs. My dolls and books surrounded me as I lay on my back gazing up through the willow branches into the clear blue sky. I'd roll to the edge of the quilt, eye-level with the grass and patches of clover and, with utmost concentration, search through the grass for the elusive mutants with 4, sometimes even 5 or 6, leaves. Months later, in the dead of winter, I would find the lucky clovers, carefully pressed between the pages of my books and a tiny, imaginary scent of summer would waft up from the page.
I still find them occasionally, though not from that closeup vantage point. My eyes were trained, as a child, to spot the lucky clovers and I see them, as if spotlighted, standing out from the surrounding grass and clover. I still put them in books and sometimes find them months or years later. I've benefited from all that good luck for a lot of years.