Dark Into Light

The big man in the “club car” truck moves in lazy circles over the golf green, his head down as if considering something vast. I think he is checking the condition of the greens after yesterday’s storm. It is 68 degrees this morning, at least 8 degrees cooler than this time yesterday. Also, darker each day. Reversion to regular time doesn’t happen until November 2. I apparently have a “wake at first light” brain, and these dark mornings I am waking up later and later.

The big man stops near a sand trap. I swear, the way he is so still, head slightly bent, he looks like he is praying. It’s a good place to pray: the low green man-made hills, clusters of native oaks and longleaf pines, a meandering lake, the morning songs of birds just beginning, and dark turning to light. A perfect place for morning prayers. Either that or he was fiddling around with his cell phone. I prefer the idea of prayer.

This condo rental has turned into a fantastic restful retreat. I love coming out to the screened porch each morning to write, drink coffee, and greet the morning. Something wondrous about being in the presence of dark turning to light. So often in our world, we are seeing light turning to darkness in so many places, even our own country.

I feel more rested this morning than I have in recent memory. Just cut up a carton of strawberries: dark, sweet and delicious. We won’t have so much time to laze around this morning, but we’ll have to hit the shower by 9:30. Buck has a dermatologist appoint at 11, then “True Beam” at 12:45, and then we’re done for the day — looking forward to some exploration and a long walk — maybe some weight lifting, too.

Ah, here comes the weed eater. The care and feeding of a golf course is never ending. Hilarious. The weed eater guy took max thirty seconds to walk over and cut some poor little piece of green that stuck its head up a fraction of an inch too high, got back in his cart and left.

Guy in “club car” just went by wearing a wind breaker. I feel cool enough for a wrap, too.

 

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