That Kind of Day

It was that kind of day when even the misses made their way towards the hole.

The fairways appeared wider, the greens greener, the skies bluer.

You got out—and stayed out—of your head.

You played.

Smiles followed hits and misses.

Not a breath was wasted, you couldn't have cared less about what your partners made of you, and you punched your way out of trouble.

A sawed-off swing sawed-off your score.

The world turned, and your hips turned with it.

It wasn't always pretty.

It wasn't always good.

But it was—you know it—pretty good.