Great Read!

This is an easy and enjoyable read, that makes some interesting
philosophical points. Here is the first chapter for your reading
pleasure. You can also by the book for only $6.99 on
AutumnMistBooks.com, or Amazon.com!

"A Walk In Autumn's Mist"

By: Patrick Bryan Whitcomb, Copyright c2000 by Autumn Mist Books, Inc.


Tee #1 Par 4
360 yards

The Autumn leaves crunched
under their mid-October footsteps.
They had walked this route to the
first tee at Brockridge Country Club
what seemed to be a few hundred
times, although this time was special.
This would be their last round
of golf for the year. Each year they
met in October, before the snow
would fall on the mountains of the
Pacific Northwest, to play their final
game.
On this fall morning the wind
blew out of the southeast off of
Brockridge Mountain, giving the
morning chill an extra bite. The sun
wasn't visible and probably wouldn't
be for the entire day, which here
was not unusual for Autumn. The
gray clouds hung low over the
course, not threatening clouds, but
clouds that gave a sense of security.
It seemed that nothing else existed
except for the three figures lumbering
their way toward the long
avenue of meadow which was the
first fairway.
The club was deserted, as it had
been for at least a pair of weeks.
The only action the club had probably
seen in the last month was
groundskeepers finishing final
close-up preparation for winter. It
was evident that the fairways and
greens had not been cut in a handful
of weeks. But up in the retiring
Autumn mountains not much
growing takes place, as the flora has
long been expecting winter.
"No one to bother us today,"
expelled Roman. Roman was
always the one to point out the
obvious. Not because he thought it
needed explaining, but instead
because he enjoyed the conversation
of both Brooke and Philip.
Roman, Brooke and Philip had
attended college together. They had
managed to keep in touch in the
few years following. This was fortunate,
as many friends have only
memories of their comrades with
whom they thought they would
never lose contact. Not that anyone
is to blame, but time seems harder
and harder to steal away with after
marriage and possibly a family
comes along. The roommates of
earlier days had even found it hard
to frequent each other's company.
That is why this ritual, as it had
become, was so important. It had
become a sort of holiday for the
three, as if it were a Thanksgiving to
be shared with each other. To miss
it would be the same as skipping
Christmas for a year. So here the
three of them stood overlooking a
blanket of brown leaves and dead
pine needles laid out meticulously
on a tablecloth of lawn as if it were
decorated especially for this occasion.
As they looked out over the
links, each slowly inhaled the
smells of nature, which were very
tired from a full year of activity and
ready for a rest.
"Shall I be the first to hit?" said
Brooke, who at times was known to
be a little impatient.
"Hit'em long and straight, my
friend," said Philip in a tone that
couldn't be mistaken for anything
but sincere. Philip, in his sweater
and khaki trousers, looked as if he
could be playing a course in
Scotland. He looked right at home
and justly so, as he was half-
Scottish.
"Or at least hit it a damn long
way," said Roman. Roman, who was
built as if he could have played professional
football, was known to hit
the ball 300 yards plus, although in
what direction the 300 yards would
be covered was usually not known.
"I'll settle for straight and leave
the home run swings to you,
Roman," commented Brooke, who
was the perfectionist of the group.
Brooke stepped up to the tee box
and started a routine which was
exactly the same on every tee of
every course that he had ever
played. First, he carefully washed
his golf ball, which had his initials
neatly printed across it. Secondly,
he drew a tee from his pocket,
always blue, his favorite color.
Placing the ball on the tee with the
palm of one hand so the tee was
exposed between his middle and
ring finger boasted a glimmering
gold class ring. Finally, he placed
the ball and tee directly between
the two tee markers. If what preceded
seemed to take minutes,
what followed took but a fraction of
time. No practice swing. No time
for anything but the precise swing
the two had seen on every tee box
they had accompanied him on
since they had known him. The
club struck the ball with a "crack"
that traveled down the ridge and
signified the beginning of their day,
their holiday.


I'll post another chapter next week. In the meantime, if you want to
check us out look on www.autumnmistbooks.com or on www.amazon.com