I was the last man on the range
Hitting wedges

Moutains framed the range
In the distance

First full swings
Then half shots

There was a sense of oneness
With the environment

The silence and the stillness
Just the sound of the club striking the ball
The breeze blowing the dirt back toward me

As the warm breeze blew
I struck each shot so purely
I cried some out of pure bliss

That was true contentment

I can't explain
I love the game so much
And to hit the ball so well
And my swing feels so good

I've hit ***** in every season
Spring, summer, fall and winter

This is an eternal game