Blessed

I’m blessed, that I live on a golf course.

And so my backyard extends into that lush green fairway and even beyond into the woods overflowing with wildlife.

Perhaps it seems odd that someone would trade a fence and backyard neighbors for the endless flow of golf carts but there are advantages.

The superintendent's crew starts work at first light in the summer, and well before dawn in the fall. That early work effort reminds me there is much to be done and that God’s day is starting without me.

Today a tip of the hat versus my usual raised in salute coffee mug.

And if I’m lucky in the fading half light of a summer’s eve I’ll watch that lone golfer. His swig as sweet and pure as Sam Snead or Ben Hogan.

His drive a solid 295 yards leaving a 7 iron to the green his second shot soars skyward falling within feet of flag but rolling well past. But no concern the 18 feet with the pin high. And there time stands still, the hush of the nonexistent crowd waits. The only sound, the summer breeze in the Carolina pines as his smooth stoke sends the ball toward the cup only to miss by a half an inch. A tap in for birdie and I raise my beer for the eagle effort. 

Perhaps tomorrow, yes tomorrow.