Strange were those summers; summers filled with war.
I think the flowers were the lovelier
For danger. Then we lived the pundonor,
Moment of truth and honour, when the bull Charges and danger is extreme…
…Strange little tragedies would strike the land…
…when wrath and strength were spent
Wasted upon the innocent…
The Garden; 1948
Clover is indeed an innocent plant. Innocent as the children who gather it, innocent as the ones only looking for that lucky mutation; the four leaf, which will grant security in all its forms, and equally as innocent as the ones only seeking love and friendship.
One afternoon, on my walk, I came across a field of clover in the park. Its cream colored patches smiled and blotted the green with different shapes and patterns reminiscent of the gardens at Versailles. This beauty struck me, perhaps more so, because I found my neighbor sitting in the middle of one, while her daughter pranced about making a bouquet of the little flowers.
With innocence abound, its beauty was enhanced all the more. So I took some photos before the dreaded mower, or the landscaper’s guillotine, with his ignorant blade of precision and correctness destroyed my view.
Perhaps it was all the lovelier for danger. Life is the same, when danger feels close and fear reigns, little reminders of beauty and innocence can indeed be all the lovelier to behold. In times of war, we should seek not to remember the destruction and destroyer, but instead strive to remember only the innocent ones and their smile.
Dedicated to the innocent ones of the Orlando tragedy.