A ride in the golf cart.

As I pulled along side the course, looking to see my husband, I reconized his yellow shirt in the distance. His cart was traveling along the trail. A beautiful day. Crystal clear blue skies topped the tall pines. A slow, simmering breeze blew through my car window. As his cart arrived beside me, he asked, "want to ride to the last hole?" Shocked. He asked. Shocked. I am not invading on his time. Shocked, I answered, "sure." As the cart starts up and he tells of his game so far, I realized this is my second time in a gold cart. The first being in college, at MTSU, for some frat golf tournament, that I drove for some friends. It is fun. It is such a beautiful day. I can see why people enjoy the golf thing. As we arrive to the final hole, he offers me a club to hit a ball. I swing two or three times before I actually hit it, but it was a pretty good line drive. We chuckle. He gives me a compliment. We take off to find where our balls have come to their resting place and I think how ironic this moment is. A year ago, playing golf was the farthest thing from my mind. A year ago, riding beside my husband in a golf cart, would have been a dream, a wish. But this day, this day a year later, I was asked. I accepted the offer. I enjoyed the air, the pine trees, the blue sky, but most of all, I enjoyed him asking and me wanting to go with him anytime he asks.