LUCKY ME Above the lake two geese, no, wait– too long, too thin, those slow and graceful strokes– herons. What luck to see them both. It’s rare that even one does me the favor. It’s like when I was five that four-leafed clover, just before I stopped my hunts for them. Now, lucky me, with my retired eyes, I’m able to stare at a dog-shaped cloud, hold onto a snowflake that lasts, watch a one-horned snail slide past.