Clover

For me, clover is a soft, airy carpet. I want to lie on it, looking up into the sky, gently touching its delicate petals with my fingers and toes, inhaling the smell of small flowers that look like little chrysanthemums, and hearing the buzzing of bees collecting nectar from them.

With clover you remember your childhood, you become free and carefree. And lying on it, you float like on clouds, just as the flower itself on its thin stem breaks through the blanket of green leaves and hovers above them.

I will not summarize by saying that clover is liberation, freedom, childhood. I will not re-seal the feeling in the rigid frame of words. It is better to look at the picture and take the feeling even of what I could not find a definition.