The phone rang just before the turn.
THE COUNTRY FOLK: What are you doing?
YOURS TRULY: About to tee off – hold…I’m putting the phone down for a second.
The cold-forged four-iron strikes with baby soft touch. As it should, barring operator error. The ball starts to the right, then picks up the crossing breeze. One hundred eighty-nine yards later the dimpled sphere is sitting twenty sum odd feet from the pin.
YOURS TRULY: I’m on…what’s up?
THE COUNTRY FOLK: Just got home from the high country. Had a buck pinned down, but it was getting stormy.
Then laughter, as the parties concur we couldn’t be further apart regarding the morning’s activities. Except for the individual enjoyment piece, the mission of which was still not complete.
MG signing off (thinking it wasn’t elk hunting with a longbow, but it’ll still do)