Playing in the Dirt

Playing in the Dirt

Like a child’s toy in the hands of a rambunctious toddler, my body winds and unwinds.  

One right after the other. Swing after swing, chasing greatness.  

A soft breeze blows on the back of my neck. 

One foot in front of the other, I trot along in search of a white globe covered in dimples.

I spot it sitting in the remnants of an old dirt patch that had once prospered with little green strings growing up from its roots.  

As I looked at the other brown patches surrounding it, I couldn’t help but wonder…

Wonder about the stories those patches could tell. 

Was it a beautiful, flush nine iron to the green resulting in birdie?  

Were the individuals having the time of their lives, laughing and living life to the fullest in the most glorious setting on earth?  

Or perhaps it was a chunky piece of pie that only flung three feet.  

Only the clump of green strings that was once there, thriving on the surface, can answer.  

And so, I chug along, writing my own piece of history in the dirt that I leave behind. 

Swing after swing, divot after divot, leaving my mark for those who follow behind to see.