Azaleas herald spring as they adorn the southern landscape and flame around foundations of homes. Their beauty abounds at that other herald of spring, The Masters Tournament in Augusta. Not that I play golf, but I spent a couple of decades on courses with a husband who was so avid about the game I call him Golfer. Fairways, manicured to the nth degree, smell of newly mown grass, an aroma of my childhood. Since I wasn’t chasing a little white ball or fretting over the mounting number of strokes, I often meditated beside peaceful duck ponds, also known as water hazards. A Sebring, Florida, alligator moseying from pond to pond, led me to discover how fast a golf cart really can go.
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