Saturday, a Bobby Clanton rock throw away from the clubhouse, I was in my yard raking leaves.
“Wheel that cart over here, would you Jinx?”
“Meow. I’ll be right there, Golpher.”
Piles and piles of leaves, now autumn, we had white oak, willow oak, red oak, dogwood leaves, too, strewn throughout the yard.
“Leaves, leaves, they’re driving me nuts,” I blew.
Shortly, “Scrn…snyx…woo. Here’s the cart, Golpher.”
“Thanks Jinxy. Tired with raking, I’m ready to play. I’ll rake traps instead.”
Jinx screwed her lips to me as her cat eyes narrowed. “Well, we can’t play, yet, Golpher. We’re not finished.” Jinx soft, fluffy black tail swirled.
“Yeah, well,” I gushed as my eyes rolled. My eyes rolling, I spouted poetry.
Leaves, leaves, I’m on my knees
Give me a break I’m bound for the tee
Our bright bags were propped against a towering oak tree. I went on.
Cart, cart, I’ll do my part
Any second there’s a shotgun start
(Image of Golpher, Jinx, cart, leaves)
Carts were off. Dog-bone Forest had a Saturday scramble. Jinx and I were going to miss it.
Like soft duck feathers shed from heavenly, down-feathered pillows, a variety of brown, yellow, and red-tinted oak leaves waved in a breeze and fell gently to our faces, to our feet, to the heaped-up leafy yard.
(Image of leaves falling around Golpher and Jinx)