DAY ONE

GOT THROUGH THE ENDLESS DAY without popping my trunk and reaching for my clubs. Spent it holed up in our Tysons office with my sun-damaged mug buried in my MacBook screen, immersed in a new business proposal. Surprisingly, I didn't feel a single pang of withdrawal until I pulled into the neighborhood.

Coming down Olympic Blvd, I found myself gazing longingly at the golfers coming up number 4. The green was lush and inviting in the sinking October sun.

As I drove by the 5th teebox, it was empty and exerted a familiar force that pulled me toward it with inescapable magnetism. I nearly drove my car into the water hazard where the fountain flirted shamelessly, whispering my name as drops of pondwater shot up into the crisp autumn air and cascaded back down dancing briefly on the surface before becoming it. 

On the green the flag waved. I waved back like a love-struck idiot.

Ah, the much-longed-for serenity of the course at the end of the day. 

I will miss it.

Damn, will I ever miss it.