When I was a little girl growing up just a minute south of downtown Atlanta, I could while away a southern spring day sitting all itchy and engrossed in a sprawling, weedy bed of clover looking for that four-leaf foliage assured to grant me good luck. What a sweet moment of wide-eyed joy when my little eye would spy the green gold peeking and dancing in the April breeze amongst her average three-leaf sisters.
Recently I’ve found myself slowin’ down a bit, lagging behind on family walks, as my older eyes search to spy that special little clover, so different from the flourishing community around her. I must look an odd sight in all my loosening skin, hopes and disappointments, straggling along the city sidewalk exploring the weeds for wonder.
And this evening, there she was, an aberration of creation – but created no less – standing without fear, not a shush of shyness, not a whisper of worry about her, just steps from my front door.