Sunday.

The third golf ball.

I found 3 golf balls this past week, after having gone at least 10 years without finding one.   One along the ocean, which is understandable.  Maybe someone was hitting them into the sea.   Another one on buried in the grass on the high school track field.  Also understandable.    Someone probably practicing their swings.

But the third one I found along the curb on a downtown street.   What are you doing there?    Did someone drop you?   Did you fall from a car?    

Every object, whether animate or inanimate, has a story which the passing of time shields, and it is a shame.    They say the average rock that you might find on the ground has an average age of 3 billion years, and you know it would be fascinating to know where it comes from, how it got there.  To that spot.    You would think that every rock comes from a much larger rock, which itself came from a much larger rock, etc, etc.     

I pick up a rock and hold it in my hand, and I feel like a ghost.    A momentary flash.  All I can say is I See You and I have you in my hand as you travel through a much longer universe of time than I ever will.