Against Lawn

The midnight streetlight illuminating the white of clover assures me I am right not to manicure my patch of grass into a dull carpet of uniform green, but to allow whatever will to take over. Somewhere in that lace lies luck, though I may never swoop down to find it. Three, too, is an auspicious number. And this seeing a reminder to avoid too much taming of what, even here, wants to be wild.