I opened an old book of poems today, searching for words to lift my soul.
To my surprise, a pressed four-leaf clover fell into my lap.
I forgot about words and instead, picking the fragile thing up by its brittle stem, I beheld the delightful distraction as the soul pick-me-up for which I was searching.
I tried to recall the time and place I had found luck and placed it in that book. No such memory came to mind so I decided right then, instead, luck had found me.
. . .