Lucky Core Four

In a patch of covered grass on the side of a hill it is gentle, still.

A village on the Scottish sea we sit, you and me. MacQueens lay rest nearby. Carved stone crosses try to tell history of our name. Did they sit here the same? Sit here and tie flowers in seascape summer hours and relax to the sound of birds and quiet around?

One flower ties to another, as daughter and mother make a circle, a crown, lucky in love in the town of Arisaig. We MacQueens feeling what it means to feel a part of a place. Feeling time erase.

Sweet waitresses smile Scottish accents while recounting days as girls, their clover flowers twirl into necklaces and crowns. We chose laughter over frowns and felt lucky. So lucky. Our boys eat at a table, grateful we are able in mind and spirit to have this time. Classes clink to cheer it. Music bursts out, we hear it: traditional tunes of the land, a few folks make up a band and play impromptu.

One month ago. Time flies, we said our goodbyes and came home. The luckiest home is where clovers grow wild and green the yard. They are better than manicured grass and are the best to paint. Home, sick ain't nothing new for you. My heart hurts, what to do but wish on this fourth leaf. Pray for relief and remember to surrender to the notion of love from above. This moment with you, with our sweet family, is lucky. Lucky core four, to remember forevermore.