A day in the Life of an Old Man

He dropped to the ground and cursed his wretched life. He hated this sandy, rocky landscape. He sat on his knees crouched forward. He screamed as loud as he could right down into the sand, “I hate this miserable place.” He had been here before, many times. There was nothing around him but dirt.. rock... sand.

He was encased in a hot, rocky horizon... all around him.... stuck with cactus and scorpions. Everywhere, hot sand and rocks, endless distances of sand and rock and more sand.... no green to be seen..... anywhere!

Why did life have to lead him here.... to this spot on mother natures real estate. What had he ever done to deserve this. Now he was alone, too.... so very much alone. Everyone had left him... life had taken them away.... all in different ways and directions... my G-d, he was alone... oh so freaking alone. The loneliness was pressing, it was very vivid and alive. The rocky landscape did not make it any better.

He was born in a mountainous terrain, filled with trees and clean spring water. Green and blue wonderful terrain. Streams, mountainsides and valleys. The first eighteen years of his life was spent on his family ranch raising cattle, emu's and growing rich brown potato's. He has learned now that dirt washes off a lot easier than blood. He did not know it back then, but his life was carefree and wonderful. The thought of the cliché, 'you don’t know what you have until you lose it' .... kept ringing in his good ear... the one he trusted and listen with the most. It was hard work back then, but he now understood, it was a good life.... the best he ever had. He regretted not making more out of it, why did he not wander around more, looked more. What was frustrating now, to bad he did not appreciate what he had back then when he actually had it. Now that he was taken away from all that, now that he was no longer at home, his real home... the one with the sweet mountains and clean water.... God, he missed all of it.

But there was no more time to cry about his past. He has walking to do. If he is not to say hello to his maker now, then he has some distances to put behind him. Kicking and screaming more seems like a waste of energy and it seems like he is in need of all the energy he can get out of this tired old body, but the kicking and screaming seems to have helped... seems to revitalize this tired old wetched body..

I guess the same feeling or thought as people visiting his home state when it was winter popped into his mind... how the hell can someone choose to live here. It is just a barren wasteland, too hot, too dry, too rocky. Once again it appeared to him that this is just a waste of energy, nothing of this can get him to somewhere safe... some where where he can find air-conditioning and a cold beer. He cried out to himself: “Walk you miserable clown... walk.”

And he left what ever was behind him and set off into the unknown wilds called the rough... the rough on the fourteenth hole... in search of his golf ball.