This morning I tromped through the dew around the perimeter of Eastend's Streambank golf course (two-thirds of which follows the contours of the Frenchman river). Gave myself a lesson in perception: I think I'll find a golfball now, I said, and right away found two, a TC Tour 2 and a Dunlop. Got my socks wet, though. Made the sound of -lf, -lf, -lf walking back home.
Postscript (next morning):
The Dunlop rolled from its temporary home on a shelf overlooking the kitchen sink over the edge, straight into an empty cup!
1 comment:
-lf, -lf, -lf
Ha! I know that sound. I can hear it!
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