My parents always had a shelf full of books that I don’t think anyone ever read. There were nature books and travel books and thick books of poetry that just didn’t have the worn look of the novels and biographies that lined other shelves.
But even though no one read them, that didn’t mean they weren’t used.
On the occasions I would take them off the shelf and thumb through them, I would often find a four-leaf clover pressed in wax paper between the pages. And I knew my dad had put them there.
He, like so many people, considered four-leaf clovers to be lucky. So, each time he found one, he kept it.
And now, every time I find a four-leaf clover, I am reminded of how lucky I was to have him as my dad.
And that always makes me smile.
Day 9: Four-Leaf Clovers