This is my inner arm:
… not drugs. But upon waking up this morning. See what popped up overnight? It’s a four-leaf clover. On my inner arm. Is a bruise? Is it (Geez!) an age spot? What is it? Keratosis Pilaris? Psoriasis? Stage-One Melanoma? Or even worse – Keratoacanthoma?
None of the above. Because I said so. I don’t know what the scientific term or reason for artwork mysteriously appearing on flesh is, but I’ll take it. My arm is now right up there with that tree stump in Belfast, where an image of Jesus mysteriously appeared, and the infamous apparition of the Virgin Mary in the bush in Philadelphia (which ironically turned 60 this year).
(Plus, see how my arm now matches my ottoman in the background!)
I have had a steady slew (the list is as long as my arm) of bad luck for some time now. But the rough patch has been slowly smoothing – things have been looking up. And now thanks to this recent shot in the arm, I’m metaphorically thick-skinned. Impervious.
I’m not religious. But I am half-Irish. And given my dermatologist’s clinical, yet now prophetic, comment after an exam a few months ago (“You’d be surprised at what can pop up on the skin overnight, once you approach 60”), I am raising my arm up in acknowledgment to whomever – whatever – reverse-tattooed me with a (hopefully) permanent good-luck charm in the dark of night.
Thank you. Because according to Irish lore, the four leaves of the clover each represent the intangibles we live for: Faith. Hope. Love. Luck.
All things, not unlike the four-leaf clover itself, that are hard to find, but pop up when we’re not looking.