I Can Imagine....

     I can imagine that these golf clubs were found in a dusty and dark garage closet in a forgotten corner of a small and warm house. They once flew through the air with acute precision, striking their target like a predator on its prey. They were probably once kept in a beautiful leather bag, and gleamed brilliantly in the shining sun on their trek through eighteen holes. There were almost 20 clubs, chipped and dull from the years of wear, left bare in an equally old and worn vase. The clubs haven't been used in almost twenty years, abandoned between the hot water heater and boxes of old christmas lights, simply sitting and collecting dust. 

     I can imagine that the original owner of these clubs purchased the set decades ago when he was younger, with aspirations of becoming one of the greats. There had been other sets through the years, but these were his first, his favorites. He would play every chance he got, every weekend and most weekdays. It put a strain on his relationships, but he never strayed, golf was a true passion of his. He would feel powerful and strong as he swung his clubs through the air, striking down on the glistening dimpled orbs and sending them flying through the air towards that hole in one. 

     I can imagine that something went wrong to take his focus away from the game. It would've had to have been big for how much he loved the game, how much he loved his clubs. I can imagine that it was a hot day, and the old man began feeling the effects. As the world began to close in around him, as his head pounded and he fell unconscious to the ground, his wrist broke his fall. Whereas he was back to his normal self within a few hours, his wrist took much longer to heal. He could no longer play golf and thus began to slip slowly into disarray. Golf provided the exercise he needed to keep his body going, and now he was lost. His once cherished clubs lay silent and still. 

     He became more involved in family matters, but since his fall, his health went into a downward spiral. Eventually the man passed away, never having picked up his clubs again, never having played another game. His son never played, he was never interested in golf, and never learned how to swing properly, beside the fact that the clubs were old and worn. There in the closet they remained, gathering dust and dirt, until the leather faded and fell away and the clubs lost all of their previous shine and brilliance. Forgotten for years and missed by no one alive to remember.