I believe I picked this particular four-leaf clover in my backyard, near the compost bin. It is the first one I’ve found in the yard here. The memories I associate with it go much deeper, however, because each and every time I pick (or find and don’t actually pick) a four-leaf clover I think of my grandmother… After she passed, four-leaf clovers appeared, pressed between pages of many, many of her books. I like to think she’s with me whenever I find one.