Along the footpath the clovers have begun a shy little graduation. The four-leaf ones wait in a green line, collect diplomas the size of a thumbnail, greet the nearest boot, and only then nod to the bench as if luck needed an audience.
We asked at the kiosk. "I retied my shoe so I would not miss the hello," said a neighbor with a paper bag of rolls. "They are not in a hurry. If the boot is dusty they wait. The luck is small enough to keep in a pocket and does not jingle on the way home."
The park keeper pinned a card to the fence: diplomas after one polite greeting. Guests may admire. Guests may not pick. A sparrow came back the next morning, sat through a second ceremony, and left with a crumb that looked very much like a tassel.