For lack of having anything original to put in this week’s post (because I’ve got ‘da writers block) I’m posting a short story (less than 250 words) that is my husband’s favorite. Perhaps you can guess why…
He stood on the green which still clung onto the early morning’s dew. The sun was at his back, not yet having crested the line of trees that bordered the little dog-leg left of the 9th hole. Above him, two blue jays squabbled with each other, each vying for a coveted spot within the large oak tree, it’s branches outstretched, hugging the green before him. A faint breeze came in from the East, but it would prove little threat to the perfect line of his putt. Although alone, he felt his father’s presence urging him to play the pitching wedge instead of the putter he was mulling around in his hands.
“I don’t know, Pop,” the man said to the oak above, “sorta feels like overkill for a wedge.”
The wind kicked up around his heals for the briefest of moments causing a single spent leaf to skim across the green. The brown and withered gift came to rest precisely in front of his ball, directly blocking his once clean shot.
Smirking, he muttered, “Challenge.”
Obliging, he tucked away his shiny new putter and slid out his father’s wedge. As the ball bounced purposefully over the leaf and into the cup, the blue jays stopped their insentient bickering and flew away towards the heavens. Smiling, the man bent down and retrieved his ball and placed it gently in his breast pocket before he was able to move on.