Coral colored crushed granite covered the small hills and valleys around the lake. It was on the fifth, sixth and seventh holes where the granite descended into the lake, which cascaded into a small stream and then into a second pool, which looked like an estuary, but, in reality, was man’s attempt to create a more hospitable environment in the middle of the desert.
Every night I used to comb the area for errant golf balls while getting my exercise. It was beautiful, and every type of ball could be found. This night was the first time I was out for this year. I found so many balls last year that I started leaving them on the tees for nouveau golfers so they could hit them into the lake . . where I would retrieve them.
I was walking around the lake for the second time, the twilight descending, making the search for balls a little more difficult, and, as I scanned the murky water for any sign of a ball needing to saved from certain death in the desert, I paused.
I looked up to the west. There, against a backdrop of a light-blue and orange sky, topped by white, wispy clouds was the dark blue-gray of the desert mountains. It was breathtaking. I always thought that the image of mountains which looked like cut-outs against the bright sky was an exaggeration. Not so.
It was beautiful. I looked at it for as long as I could before a ball tugged at my pant leg and dragged me off to more important things. A few minutes later I looked up. The sky was still beautiful.
So, what does one do with the beauty? You can’t really capture it in a photo. You can’t put it in your pocket or stash it in your ball bag. You can just enjoy it for as long as you can see it.
I made a note to myself that I don’t often take the time to look up and appreciate the beautiful sights all around.
Then, an insistent tug at my pant’s leg told me there were more important things at hand. I picked up my ball retriever, peered off into the murky water, and was off to save more balls.