The grass whispers a prayer beneath me,
each dew drop catching the early sun.
This morning breathes cool and forgiving,
like the exhale before something begins.
I aim, I swing, I falter.
The ball leaps sideways,
dives headfirst into the woods\' shadow,
as if it needs the quiet more than I do.
Nothing in golf, or life,
is ever promised—but here I am,
ball cap low, heart open,
hoping the next drive listens better.
Maybe I\'ll take a mulligan,
perhaps I\'ll lean into the uneven,
find grace somewhere inside the veering.
The women ahead laugh softly, waiting.
They remind me it\'s not about speed,
but patience, stride, and aimless joy.
I follow their footsteps to the next hole,
carrying my second chances with me.