Nineth hole, setting - sun vision - blocked, from the next fairway, the shot.

Golden arched flight through the leaves of the giant cottonwood.

Two hundred yards, a thrilling flight, walking, picture it landed and lined up neatly with the distant pin.

Maybe right between the two tropical white sandy, reddish bunkers, good-bye sun, thanks for tonight.

How about easy chip shot to that glowing blue flag that  jumps out from the fading green?

Turn around, look back, whose ball slid down and rests near that giant  darkened tree trunk?

The wind spreads laughter through fresh cottonwood leaves and tall grass, stars now twinkling, jilted sand wedge flips back in the bag , the whole course agrees!