A Snap in the Wind
The sun is shining. Wind blows at eight miles an hour. A green fairway paves a path. A man sleeps beneath a crooked tree. Plastic bags whirl wildly in a twisting breeze. Birds fly, lose control in wind waves, and fly right again.
Slinging rubber with and against wind, discs fly as saucers in a ninja tea party. See ‘em fly! Fly and disappear into high grass like piñata candy. Pitcher at the pad and that arm slings back and snaps forward, fingers snap *SNAP*!
An arm raises a hand to block the bright sun of Sunset Park. When vision clears, a rubber bee is just barely seen forced down by the high winds, hitting the high weeds, and yet a four or five par for the hole for the basket is farther than rushing wind allows.
A voice calls, but words are lost in the rush. A shrug, or thumbs up, or other such pose of body language must suffice as response. A polo shirt and sweatband around the brow like a low-rise halo, the pro imparts a lesson on form in elemental fury. With a wink and a snap, pro becomes rookie as rubber is slung, booming through the sound barrier *BOOM*!