In the Wake of the Wake
A stretch of greensward fringed with the morning shadows of oaks and maples; a reach of swampland gay with the colors of October; a flash of tardy songbirds drifting south, reluctant still to go; a small lagoon glittering like steel in the sunlight; a slender shaft rising and falling rhythmically; a click, followed by the graceful flight of a small white sphere that falls obediently upon a square of velvet green—
Oh, shucks! Don’t forget to register.