In a field of white clover, there are always a few leaves that don't develop properly. Instead of three palmate leaflets, these mutant leaves have four. They are rare, but not scarce--every field of white clover, every patch, has a few extra lobes. Some children, when told of the malformed leaves, search for them, pouring over each square foot of every patch they see. Days pass. One appears and the kid is wonderfully excited. Nearby, another, and another, and another!! Their newfound success in four-leaf clover hunting has nothing to do with an increase in the number of mutant leaves, but with the formation of a search image in the kid's head--that snap-to-it-gestalt thing the brain can do when an image or feeling or skill is hardwired in. After a few successes, finding them isn't so exciting. Slowly, other skills cover up the search image, remembering car keys and meetings becomes more important, and four-leaf clovers are almost forgotten. Then, if they're lucky, the forgetful one may look down years later and see a four-leaf clover. And another. And another. And another.

To me, finding love is like finding four-leaf clovers. Like finding infrequent but ever-present mutants, it takes a while to develop a search image. If you stop valuing it, you can forget how, and be startled but comforted when it happens again. Ooooh. yeah. I remember what that looks like...