Valley of Flowers
sweetened for any
situational humor on primetime TV . It was over in a flash
when the club rose at
the follow through in apparent high triumph.
     
    Arjuna remained pointing his arms
to wards the heavens. His
follow through looked to be a solemn flag-hoist. This seemed to be
one for the guys. He rested the club on to his shoulder to the memory of those he was fond
of recalling.
     
    In his heart Arjuna knew they were
temporarily inhabiting the grandest of all pasturelands, to get
refreshed, before returning to compete again, with an equal amount
of style along with a whole lot of grace.
     
    With his feet somewhat planted, the old man
hitched up his pants. Arjuna did this a time or two more in a
routine that could pass as a ritual in a pagan religion. This was quite entertaining to
young Nicolas. He looked to have benefited immensely. He thought it
curious to get ready this way, one in which nobody could forget
soon.
     
    The once-assured or one called King by his
legion of loyal followers , and b egrudgingly so by his
competitors, turned his hips to stand better over the ball.
     
    Suddenly he backed away from it. He stepped
out of the pocket to walk a few paces behind. The old man gave ball
and flower fairway a
long look. He did this while furiously reforming his grip on the
driver.
     
    Some time passed before Arjuna went back
into it. He had a look on his face that could scare crows.
     
    The old man stepped up and took his stance over a ball he
perceived as being intimidated by him. Man and ball then gave one another a wink-wink
knowingness over who was truly the boss here. This stare - down left one participant a tad undecided.
After which that one backed off.
     
    Again,
Arjuna stepped away from the plate. The old man took several quick
quarter-swings. The stern look upon his face, along with the
sorrowful shaking of his head, seemed to suggest that stepping away was indeed
needed.
     
    He came back in to it. Arjuna settled into his stance. When he
seemed persuaded by it, a waft of wind arrived to thwart him. The
wind came in again to
antagonize more. Nicolas gave no thought to the breeze. He was
concerned only with the swing of this past master.
     
    The chill air calmed. It moved Arjuna to
arrive at some acceptance. Soon he was a mere dot presence in the
glory of All. No friend, the wind kicked up again to chide him.
     
    Nicolas was glad not to be the one at the
plate at this time. He heaved a sigh of relief that it would not be
him teeing off there and then. For the moment he was happy not to
be the one getting that kind of unwanted wind attention.
     
    A rjuna backed off again to take more practice swings. The twisted set
of body instructions that followed seemed not to be coming from an
otherwise sane man. To the uninitiated, Arjuna's swing may have
looked like it had come up from one or more layers of Dante’s hell.
It occurred to Nicolas the old man's swing, known at one time as The End-bringer, could
not possibly have been manifested from the known world. To him, Arjuna’s swing looked to be an odd dance mix of
hop, tap, bop, with a bit of boogie thrown in.
     
    Then his swing did change. His swing had acquired more finer, p oetic lines. Indeed , his swing no longer seemed to be
punishing some wayward sinner. Still Arjuna finished hands-up high
as if caught in a crime.
     
    A breeze came to open the youth's shutters
to an altered way of seeing. Strong wisps arrived to say Arjuna's
swing was a thing to cherish. Next thing Nicolas heard his mind say
was that he should appreciate all things. This included, he
assumed, Arjuna's twisting up follow through.
     
    The old man wailed away on yet another
practice swing. The club hit the ground at impact. This offered up
another thing to love called turf. T he fantastic god - creation known as Arjuna's swing went wild yet again . Gladly it
seemed his swing had finished arms, elbows, hands up high. A
changed man, Nicolas saw the old man's swing as a thing of

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