The unexpected blur of white
cutting across the green backdrop
startled me with the pleasure
of a shooting star.
I savored the sight of the ball’s
bounce in three graceful arcs,
each one smaller than the one before…
until the bounce became a dribble,
the dribble became a roll,
and the roll slowed to a gentle stop.
In the rhythm of the bounce
I heard the beat a triple step,
the very one that resides at the
heart of East Coast swing…
and I felt moved to dance.
Not knowing the layout
of the course I had no way
to judge the virtue of the shot
and whether it would bring pleasure
or pain to the one who launched it.
From my vantage point
beneath the oak arbor
the shot was, and will always be,
an occasion of grace and beauty.