a thin layer of spring frost
lies on the silent golf course
like stubble on an old man’s face.
The lethargic sun rises and turns
it into shining diamonds and I find
the scene loosens the shackles of my mind.
Shadows dance from trees like ghosts
and a seagull dives into the pond
creating hypnotic transient ripples.
I imagine golfers here long ago
escaping from stress for a while
watching the white ball darting through the air,
their time has gone…but the sun does not care.