It’s a misty, moisty morning, wet, soft, quiet, grey and lovely. My cactus plant is blooming. He blooms about three times a year. Flowers on top of his learn, prickly stature makes me smile. And yes, thank you, love – I like golf. It’s hushed, it’s outside in nature, birds singing. I like the crayon colors of pink shirts and yellow pants decorating the green green grass, bright red dotting around the landscape, in the whispery air of soft sounds. Something in the aloneness, the solitary soul of the sport, appeals to me, too. One to one with the self, a way of life, knowing the self, a philosophy being lived. That ball has some kind of inner spirit, a bit of a rebel, not going to always obey. I see a mystical test between the harshness of the unpredictable, up against the heart so filled with the strength of skill and grace. Acceptance and letting it go. And I like that. Facing the pain of it all, all alone, challenging only the self, alone to the Alone. My Scottish ancestry, the ages of Celtic nature deep in my heritage, memories of life times in the brave heart of Scots lineage.