Lucky If You Can Find It

I lie in the clover, my nose pressed into the dewy dampness. My brother already gave up and went home. He and I are as different as night and day when it comes to such things.

I am tenacious, and today my superstitious side is rearing its pretty head. I call it pretty because even though I don’t really believe in such things, I do love the idea of them . . . you know, lucky rabbit’s feet and whatnot.

Winter has only just decided to take its leave, but the clover never waits long to spring up after the snow melts and the bone chilling winter winds die down.  I only hope Mother isn’t cross with me for lying in the mushy aftermath of winter in my Sunday best.

Darn these glasses! Always slipping down my nose. At least they help me see. Although, when I’m this close to what I’m examining I could likely go without.

“Sylvie, it’s time to come home,” my brother calls from down the hill.

“Just a minute! I feel the luck getting closer!” I yell back, my vision plastered to the blanket of clover scant inches from my face. I’m certain I will be permanently cross-eyed.

“Ma says come now, Sylvie!”

Grrrr! I’m so close. I know it. But Mother won’t let me eat dinner if I don’t come when she calls.

I push myself over onto my back, smashing my beloved green, growing carpet on the cliff. My head is pillowed in the softness. The tendrils of clover tickle my ears.

“So close,” I murmur to myself as the cool ocean breeze slips over my prone body. I mush my palms down into the verdant clover on either side of me and cannot mistake the earthy scent released in tandem with the oozing of fluid from the tiny crushed plants.

A trifle contrite, I say, “I suppose it’s possible I’ve just squished my luck.”

I’d like to find a four-leaf clover, but the rainbow arching through the clouds above my head will have to be my beautiful piece of luck for the day.  “It will do for now, but don’t be mistakin’ me, Four-Leaf Clover, my friend. I will find you . . . tomorrow.”

I stand in the midst of the clover field and admire the imprint left by my body. Twenty-five years on the search, and I still make a good clover angel.

Ma is going to tell me to keep looking, like she always does.