“Oh lord, I’ve had enough of these people out here,”
My Dad muttered with irritation while shaking his head.

In the distance,
Clean, open, green fields criss-crossed with an organized mow and
Checkerboard sand patches raked to perfection.
Thick, bushy trees,
Standing their ground on the perimeter.
White, steel poles,
extending over smooth, but curvy ground, and
Small flags blissfully flutter in the calm wind.
Tranquility.

However,
In front of us,
A line of carts backed up at the first tee box
Containing men with vibrant, tucked-in polo shirts
And women with skirts and visors.
All eager to play and
growing impatient.

The clubhouse doors swung open and closed
As team members walked in and out,
With hands full of cold beverages and newly-purchased tees.

Gas-powered carts shifted into drive
and then sputtered to a stop behind one another.
The line was a busy highway.

Clubs clanked and rattled together as they were snagged out of their bag.
White gloves carried a ball and tee to the first hole.
Little wooden sticks poked into the low-cut grass and
Compressed down to the ideal height.
A shiny, vivid ball,
Sat balancing on top,
Waited for impact.

Whispers swiftly traveled amongst the golfers
As the ping of the golf ball echoed after contact.
Eyes followed intensely while the hissing, brightly colored, tiny sphere
Soared through the air.
The silence would break with a sudden remark:
“Good Shot.”
“Sit!”
“Get Right!”
“Oh, be Good.”

Discouraged after observing the chaos,
My dad and I,
Standing with our club bags straddling our backs,
Turned around,
and walked back to the car.