I was walking in my parents’ yard Monday afternoon and just happened to see a four-leaf clover. I don’t know how. I just saw it. I kneeled down and plucked it, and then spotted a ladybug perched on a blade of grass. And then saw another four-leaf clover right beside it. I left that one for someone else to find.
I spent some time in the grass, just kinda breathing and thinking, then got up and strolled around some more (damn, I want a yard of my own and soon), when I came upon another patch of clover and sat down. In less than five minutes, I’d found six more four-leaf clovers. And yeah, I’m sure there’s some science-of-mutation nonsense behind the frequency with which four-leaf clovers pop up, but at the time, I felt like I had tuned into some wavelength that I normally hover just above or just below — one that I ignore because it moves a little more slowly or perhaps even more quickly than the pace at which I’m used to clipping along. I mean, I have never ever been able to find those things before. This time last year, I found my first four-leaf clover and that was that. It’s almost as if now that I know I can find them, it’s easier to do so. Everywhere I go, I see them.
That’s total crap, I’m sure. But it makes me wonder.
No way, man. Remember the movie about the dude who couldn’t see Colonial ships until someone pointed them out to him? It’s true!