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I step up to the green.
485 yeards of moist green grass fade away behind me.
Jeffrey Pines border the long stretch of fairway;
several sand traps encircle the putting surface.
From the corner of my eye I notice
a mule deer suddenly appears between the trees,
    pausing to survey the area,
    cautious of any potential predators that may be near.
Then, as quickly as he appeared,
he bounds back into the forest of trees.

The scent of damp, freshly cut grass fills the air,
the rising sun peeks at me from behind the morning fog;
a cool breeze ruffles my jacket as it blows by
    and strains to push the fog away.
A robin perched on a nearby branch chirps obnoxiously
    interrupting the silence.
The wind picks up, and the rustling
of dry leaves is heard as they tumble across the grass.

My Top Flite 2000 XL rests a mere 20 feet from the cup.
I approach the dimpled ball, and silence surrounds me.
Nothing is heard
except for the sound of my own concentration..
I swing the putter effortlessly, sending the sphere rolling forward.
It glides peacefully along the grass,
    its shadow following behind,
both being drawn to the hole like a magnet.
Suddenly, it begins to fade left.
My mind races, trying to figure out
what could have possibly gone wrong.
Did I misread the break?  Did I push it left?
What could I have done to ruin such a beautiful putt?
Then, a breath from God blows it back on course,
    aimed towards the hole.
The sweet sound of the clank against the metal cup reminds me
of a quarter dropped into an empty glass jar.
The ball has found his home,
    and I have found mine.