A clover, any time
The pedigree of honey
Does not concern the bee;
A clover, any time, to him
— Emily Dickinson
I am a person of simple tastes. During our lean years, I supposed this was because we couldn’t afford grand things. But the passing decades have taught me that it’s a deep-down unchanging part of who I am. It simply doesn’t take very much to impress or delight me.
A lot of people might think that’s mildly pathetic, and maybe they feel sorry for me. I don’t mind. I think it’s an incredibly lucky trait to have; it makes life fun and relatively inexpensive.
On my evening walks in Alexandria, I sometimes stroll past neglected medians and roadside fields of grass sprinkled with clover. I find the flowers so beautiful that I can hardly resist picking them and bringing them home to display in a pretty Limonata bottle. See what I mean? I honestly prefer a recycled bottle to a vase.
The great thing is, I need never worry that someone will get mad at me for picking clover blooms. I just have to be careful not to anger a bee who was there first. The blooms last a long time, and bring me joy every time I see them.
Are there any simple, humble things that you enjoy? If so, count yourself fortunate. I wish you a summer full of easily-quenched thirsts, modest treats and unpretentious pleasures.