Stories Collected While Living in France
A stack of books stuffed haphazardly in a cardboard box,
Some without covers looking worn out but not from reading.
Bookworms were feasting.
But there in the unpleasant looking heap,
A book laid opened with its pages stained with memory.
A four leaf clover. Next to it the words read:
"Lui qui etant Dieu"
"He who is God."
In the springtime, my Grandmother Rosa’s farm just north of Willows would sprout every shade of green. Acres and acres of clover. As children we’d spend hours searching for the legendary four leaf clover. Not a one, not a single one. It was only after her death that I discovered pressed four leaf clovers in her cookbook, hundreds of pressed clovers in between pages of German recipes. Truly a miracle.
The book rests on my desk filled with my Grandmother’s luck.
Lovely …..
Beautiful….
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