Signs of the Times

Brisk air, the sound of a golf cart and the click of the ball as my driver makes solid contact, Ah the fulfillment as that little white orb sails high and over the mowed green grass finding its way to a pleasant place in the middle of the fairway. Life just doesn't get much better. My second shot is but an 8 iron to the green, and with the grace of a moose I swing and up, up and away the ball once again slowly descends within yards of the ever elusive hole, at times I wonder if I should join the seniors tour, then I remember that was one good, one compared to so many not so good ones. My friend comments, you really hit a nice iron shoot, I am in awe as this is one of his good days, he remembers I am there, and is aware of my play. It it good to have him with me even if it is for one day, for the next time, he may not be so aware. He smiles, and talks about not hitting the ball the way he should. Life is good this day, the weather is 76 and the sun peaks from behind a cloud here and there, the trees have not begun to turn yet, but the sense of the pending fairways filled with brown, orange and red, doing they best to hide the ball, is just around the corner. Even without his hearing aids he responds to my questions, my voice finds a way to his inner ear, he is not the most talkative person, even before, and now even less, at times he just stares into space, not knowing where his ball even went. He knows what he has, and told me once that he was a bit anxious about what will happen. I told him we would play as long as he could, he smiled, that is good. I like when he smiles, his life is fading away from him and he cannot stop it. But we will play, men will be boys and the game will go on as long as it can.