Our Last Red Rose is Fading
Our little Rose grew strong and resilient
~in the Oklahoma Red clay
In times of drought she took in less
~her roots held strong
Her petals danced to the strings
~of the fiddle
Her strong canes rhythmically moved
~over the piano keys
Like a butterfly born to fly
~music lifted her face to the sunshine
Our Last Red Rose is Fading
Her trunk once green and strong stands
~now brown and broken
Her vibrant red buds and blooms bend
~ downward toward the earth
Some years she barely survived,
~now she is weary
Watching her wilt day by day
~we struggle
Then a bud appears out of no hope
~a smile radiates across her face
There is Hope
This rose without a thorn
~is a rare beauty
Three of us stopped suddenly as we neared the par three. The talking stopped and we stood in awe and delight of a magnificent Desert Bighorn Sheep nonchalantly chewing the neatly trimmed and fertilized lush green grasses of the desert homes near the foothills of the mountains where he roams. I slowly crept back to the golf cart and quietly retrieved my camera. Par suddenly wasn't on my mind, but watching him eat, meander, and drift around the green fascinated me. He walked across the bridge right into our way, seeming to nod, "Oh, a camera I see. Let me strut for you and show you who's King here at the Palmer!"
"I'm watching," I told him. He stood and stared for a long time then ignored us completely and slowly climbed right up the ragged mountain side, disappearing in the rocks.
Those of us who are fortunate to enjoy the outdoors, whether in golf, hiking, biking, exploring, or simply being in tuned to nature, are so often blessed with a glimpse of the magnificents.
There is a cliche my mother used to say, "You can't see the forest for the trees." I might change it to say, "Some Days you can't find the fairway for the trees."
One day this summer the groves of trees and tall grasses must have been exuding an unfavorable enchantment over my ball. My woes began on the fourth hole and didn't end until we finished our 18 holes. The Trails Golf Course in Norman is a river bottom course lined with towering trees on every hole and sawtoothed pampas grass where the trees aren't growing. I might add the witches boiled their pot and added water filled ponds, and sand bunkers, to the mix of curses that I experienced that day.
Ironically, I hit some tremendous shots and made one dynamic putt, but I incurred several penalties along the way. Overall, if I count only my trees hit, sand blasts shots, water shots, and penalties then I shot under par. I may have even set a personal best for hazardous play.
On hole #7 the pro drove by and chuckled to see four of us wondering through the forest like lost souls, tripping over fallen limbs, and raking the leaves away looking for long lost golf balls. He smiled and asked, "Are you looking for Letty's ball (she who rarely ventures out of the fairway)?"
"Yes," I responded still able to laugh, not knowing what the future held. His face turned red and he said, "Oh, that was suppose to be a joke!"
That day on the golf course, I felt a kindred spirit to my hero, Alexander and the Terrible Horrible No Good Very Bad Day, with the thought, "And then do you know what happened next?"
At The Trails a golfer is rarely alone in the forest. The tree witches will find a way to tease and insult one's ego. Sometimes, they leave a trail of exchange balls, never yours but occasionally a fair exchange ball; other times they will kick the ball around in mid air like a Quidditch match from Harry Potter. The player can only watch as some other force is in control of the golf ball.
Somewhere in the Rules of Golf there is an unwritten rule that I did not know. It reads, "When the wondering foursome agrees that the ball must be nearby, not lost, but covered by a magical leaf then there is NO penalty. The once cursed player may drop a ball nearby an agreed location and hit the ball back into play." I thought it made sense. Why should a player have to go back and hit another golf ball when the first played ball is sitting nearby, just not visible due to the enchantment in the forest. (Rule: 7 ate 9)
I watched my husband launch two fire bolts today, both flew into the enchanted forest with the firepower to break a curse, but the magic on the limbs and leaves never returned his shots. No one laughed, but we were in awe of his lightning fast swing.
In golf, like in any sport in life, I am safe from the evil spells for another day, or until my spirit weakens, and I cannot hold them at bay! Between now and the next tee time, I will walk with the humility that this game teaches us, and laugh at the stories we share.
~now brown and broken
