The instrument set down for a while, the afternoon left to itself.
I put it down and did not pick it back up for a long time. Some afternoons ask you to stop playing and just sit in the field with the sound already gone. I let it stay quiet.
Early days at the range. More misses than hits.
This was the beginning. A driving range somewhere in Mississauga, golf balls scattered everywhere, most of them not going where I wanted. I picked up golf not for the sport but for the headspace. Something about standing in an open field and focusing on one small thing at a time. I was terrible and I did not care. That felt like the whole point.
