Cold hard facts only get you so far on the allotment
I believe in magic beans. I carry three (or more) with me always. It was an accident at first. They were left over from seed sowing, purple-podded ‘Trail of Tears’. I found them in a jacket pocket, smooth, rounded, reassuring.
After a while I transferred them from jacket to jacket, my fingers sometimes searching them out, tumbling them around, a caressing of luck. A connection with wonder, perhaps. Later, they found their way into my jeans, became constant companions.
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