Sarah’s fingers crept slowly through the clover scented meadow grass; parting it gently she repeated the count in her head, ‘One, two, three – one, two, three – one, two, three’. In the half an hour of painstaking searching, she had never reached the magic four. Sighing with increased doubt that a four leaf clover could ever be found, Sarah lay back intertwining both hands behind her head and watched the clouds drift by.
Like love, she thought, reciprocated forever, almost as impossible to find as a four leafed clover, if indeed it ever existed at all.
Sarah had believed she had found the magic with Jake; one, two, three years, not just the months previous boyfriends had lasted. Jake had moved in, they had even chose a new double bed together; surely a sign that a proposal was imminent.
Then, as sudden as the sky can change colour, his pillow remained untouched – his head nestled elsewhere, or on someone.
Sitting up quickly and getting to her feet, Sarah brushed off the loose grass, swung the backpack over her shoulders and clicked the buckle over her flattened stomach. She had lost a bit too much weight these last months.
The sky was now cloudless. Sarah caught a familiar sound; a pair of buzzards was circling effortlessly – plaintive cries echoing in the blue. She lifted the binoculars, adjusting the focus till their outline became clear. Drawing in, the male and female locked talons and tumbled, twisting and turning – re-affirming their bond.
The hard nugget of doubt slipped from Sarah’s heart. Breaking free, the buzzards swerved and disappeared over the rise; taking Jake with them and her need to find a four leafed clover.
Sarah resolved to ask the rather handsome young man in the Youth Hostel if he would like to share her meal tonight – he was on his own too, and had smiled warmly at her this morning; they say ‘a way to man’s heart…’ she recalled. Well, you never know – he might be her lucky number four.