Nine holes before nightfall.
The day unfolded like a quiet gift.
Not wrapped,
Not announced,
Just there.
The morning had surprised them both.
Sixty-five degrees in December.
Warm enough that the jacket stayed in the closet.
Warm enough that the air felt almost borrowed from another season.
The kind of warmth that didn't ask for attention,
Only gratitude.
Mara drove with the windows cracked open,
The sunlight brushing the dashboard in soft gold.
Evan sat beside her,
Half awake,
Half smiling,
Holding two coffees carefully as if they were something fragile.
They hadn't planned much,
Just nine holes,
Just a little time outside before the holidays began pulling them in different directions.
The course was quiet when they arrived.
This time of year always thinned the crowds,
And today the place felt especially still,
As though the land itself had decided to rest.
They unloaded their bags slowly.
No rushing,
No schedules pressing in.
The grass was winter soft,
Pale and calm beneath their feet.
It feels like cheating,
Evan said,
Looking up at the sky.
Mara followed his gaze.
Above them the sky stretched wide,
Purples fading into blue,
The kind of colors that belong more to memory than to weather.
Winter coloring,
Somehow warm without losing its depth.
It does,
She said,
But let's take it anyway.
They walked to the first tee,
Clubs tapping lightly against their bags,
A familiar sound that settled something inside Mara's chest.
She hadn't played much this year.
Life had found ways to fill itself,
But today the rhythm returned easily.
Evan teed up his first ball.
He stood quietly for a moment,
Grounding himself.
Then swung,
Smooth and confident.
The ball lifted into the air,
Arcing cleanly against the sky.
Nice,
Mara said.
He grinned and relaxed.
Good start.
Her turn came.
She took a breath,
Feeling the warmth on her arms,
The absence of wind.
The silence felt friendly,
Not demanding.
She swung.
The ball rose gently and landed safely on the fairway,
Rolling just a little farther than she expected.
See,
Evan said,
The day's on our side.
They walked together,
Unhurried,
Watching their steps,
Talking about nothing in particular.
The course felt alive but peaceful,
Awake in a quiet way.
Near the second hole,
A hawk circled overhead.
They stopped without speaking,
Both noticing it at the same time.
The bird rode the air effortlessly,
Wings barely moving.
Its shadow gliding across the grass below.
That one lives here,
Evan said softly.
I see it all the time.
Mara nodded.
The hawk felt like a constant,
Like something that had been watching long before they arrived and would still be there long after.
They played on.
By the creek,
The water moved slowly,
Catching reflections of the sky.
The surface shimmered with purples and silvers,
Winter colors made gentle by the light.
One by one,
Their ball sailed safely over it.
No splashes,
No frustration.
Neither of them lost a single ball.
It felt small,
But it mattered.
On the far edge of the green,
They noticed movement near the water.
Turtles rested on the sun-warmed rocks,
Still and patient,
Shells catching the light.
Ducks drifted lazily across the creek,
Their ripples spreading in soft rings.
A pair of geese stood nearby,
Watchful but calm,
As if they'd agreed to share the space.
Squirrels darted between trees,
Pausing occasionally to observe these slow-moving humans with mild curiosity.
The world felt generous that day.
They took their time.
They laughed at missed putts that didn't matter.
They celebrated quiet successes with nods instead of cheers.
At one point,
Mara paused mid-fairway and simply stood there.
What is it?
Evan asked.
Nothing,
She said,
Just noticing.
He didn't rush her.
That was the gift of the day.
Space to notice.
The way the light shifted without warning.
The way warmth lingered on skin even in December.
The way a simple game became something more when shared without expectation.
By the seventh hole,
The sky deepened.
Purples grew richer,
Blues more pronounced,
As if evening were carefully layering itself in.
They walked side by side,
Clubs slung over shoulders,
Footsteps quiet against the grass.
You know,
Evan said,
This might be one of my favorite days we've had in a while.
Mara smiled,
Her gaze still on the horizon.
Mine too.
They finished the ninth hole just as the light softened into something almost velvety.
No rush to leave,
No rush to pack up.
They stood for a moment,
Looking back across the course.
The creek,
The trees,
The animals settling into their own rhythms.
The hawk had disappeared somewhere beyond sight.
Everything felt complete.
On the drive home,
The sky darkened fully,
Stars beginning to appear.
The warmth lingered inside the car,
A quiet echo of the day.
Mara rested her hands lightly on the wheel,
Feeling full in a way that didn't need explanation.
Some days didn't need to be big,
Some adventures didn't need distance or drama.
Some moments were enough simply because they were shared.
And as the road stretched ahead,
Calm and familiar,
The day folded gently into memory.
Nine holes,
Perfect weather,
And a sense of peace that stayed long after the last ball was played.
And that is the end of our story tonight.
Until next time,
Sweet dreams.
