four-leaf clover"Is everything okay?"
 he calls out, unleashing his dog on the far side of his driveway, beyond the vacant lot on which I'm trespassing.

I had noticed them half an hour earlier, at the beginning of my hilly, neighborhood powerwalk.  French Bulldogs are such a curious-looking breed, they remind me of Bartok the bat from the animated Anastasia.  I almost expect them to rise on two feet, do karate-chop hands and squeak "I'd give her a HA! And a HI-YA! And then a OUU-WA!" and I can't help but wonder if I'm the only person who has ever imagined that.  

Hunched over with my nose inches from the ground, I suppose I might have looked like I was sick or maybe searching for a lost contact.  My posture indicated anything but "okay".  

"Oh, I'm just looking for four-leaf clovers," I explained, like that was perfectly normal, a grown woman hunting clover anomaly.  It strikes me that I'm the deviation from the norm.

But in the very moment I speak it, I spot one.  Thrilled, before I allow time to think before I gush, I tell him, "You must be my lucky charm YOU'RE A LUCKY CHARM!" and as soon as those outrageous words excape my lips, I want to burrow under the grass and hide from this stranger-neighbor.  

Kindly, he shrugs it off with a manufactured laugh before quickly disappearing into his home.  Away from the crazy lady.

Undeterred, I return my attention to the clover patch.  

I see another…

    and another…

        and another!

Eventually, six in all.  

If fairies are real, this is where they live.

* * *

I continue my walk homeward, heart brimming with good cheer and hand pinching a tiny, leafy bouquet.  My steps are lighter.  

Friendly, concerned neighbors breed goodwill.

* * * 

I cannot pass a clover patch without looking down and trying to find a four-leaf clover, even if I'm walking fast.  If I'm forced to, I feel like I'm missing something special…extra-ordinary…lucky.

It's a quirk.

It's one of those things I name and know and like about myself.  

I think it's important to notice the things about yourself, the ways you're wired, that make you you.  The little things.  The commonly uncommon.  Maybe even the things no one else on the planet knows about you.

* * *

Like so many others, I carry a phone most everywhere I go.  I do this not to talk or check in or to socially document my every step, it's so I can take pictures to make moments last longer.  So I can remember what I so easily forget.  

Like lucky charms and verdant fairy bouquets and nice neighbors and bat-like dogs.  

What a bonus to discover the phone I'm demo-ing as a Verizon Wireless Ambassador (a Blackberry Z10) has a Story Maker feature; I just wish I had been brave enough (aware enough?) to steal a picture of the man and his dog.  

But maybe that would have made me bonafide crazy.  (Maybe that I wouldn't think was so wonderful.

Enjoy the mini movie; it's my first so they can only get better, right?


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