The times i spend playing golf are those precious times that make me appreciate what life has offered me. I realize how fortunate i am to be able to stroll, unencumbered by any infirmity, after 35 years of living. To see freshness even in the brown, wilted grass may seem out of touch with reality but I think, these blades will, in time, turn green again. To walk around undulating fairways under the scorching heat may even appear as plain insanity yet i feel that the heat will simmer down in a few minutes.
That's before i reach the green.
When after a lengthy push of my undecided ball i am left with 4 feet to conquer. When my turn comes, i stand beside my ball, aimed and frozen. Petrified. I move on with catatonic inefficiency. A lengthy wobbling backswing, a long pause, a decelerating swing forward. Not surprisingly, albeit expected, the ball hesitates to move along its intended course. It shyfully rolls out of my sight, out of my line and, i wish, out of my life.
This is a recurring dream that is difficult to separate from reality.