The Sun

There’s just something about feeling the light on your face.

I was on the green waiting for my cart mate to hit it out of the sand.

He finally did, but was swearing as he joined me on the green.

“Check out that view,” I said.


“Yeah, great,” he said. “I just took 3 hacks to get it out.”

I laughed.

That’s golf.

The most calming, aggravating hours you can spend.

It touched 80 degrees.

I reported that back home.

“It’s 23 here,” Kathy said.

And I concentrated a lot on the fact that I was sweating and that the sun was riding high.

I don’t think about Donald Trump when I’m golfing.

After we played a young kid came by to wipe down my clubs.

“Don’t wash the 5-wood,” I said. “I’m mad at that bastard.”

“Did you have fun?” The kid asked. “Because that’s all that matters.”

“I’ll let you know.”

But I did have fun, and it had little to do with the sand shots, the couple of balls that went in the drink...

...it was fun because of the sun.

More on tap for tomorrow.

It’s supposed to be sunny.

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