A golf friendship.
Over the past four years, my wife and I developed a friendship with another couple. Ron is 81 and has played a lot of golf in his life and took his game seriously. I learned from his experience.
Atoms of air hung in stillness
Mixed with grassy morning dew.
The sparrow an only witness!
A fanboy, who knew?
Ron swung his driver, and winced.
Old bones they tell the tale,
Of past years of glory, and when
Ball contact rarely failed.
He trundled and stumbled
In an old man’s gait.
As we sought his Calloway ball,
To find in rough and silent wait.
Ron took one look,
Quickly drew the club
And bashed his ball.
Aimed at an off green shrub.
With fulsome loft and landing soft,
It landed birdie-put away.
A small stroke and big grin,
They made his golfing day!
One day last month, Ron was gone.
He’d moved lakeside way,
To be with daughter and grandkids
And fish or golf each day.
This choice he’d made in silence,
Unsaid by this quiet man.
To live whatever life remains
With the love of his own clan.
Casual friends, they come and go,
Real friends last through time.
They’re gifts to cherish and respect,
Like atoms, they sync with mine.
Weeks have passed since Ron moved on.
No message have I heard.
We were just casual golf friends,
Understood without a word.
We had some fun, Ron and I,
Doing the only thing we shared.
With highs and lows and glory shots
Each one witnessed with care.
