Golf Disc

He tests the wind; throwing a pinch of dirt and leaves into the air to see which way and how fast it blows away. Satisfied, he takes hold of me in his strong, sure hands; caressing me until he gets that perfect feel. “Let’s see what we can do today, shall we,” he mutters under his breath so that only I can hear. I vibrate jubilantly in anticipation of what is to come; knowing the taste of freedom even before my release. It’s his tee and he steps onto the pad, his grip on me tightening from the instinct of long practice; trial and error. I feel his muscles coiling like springs as he readies himself for the launch. He turns backward so that I am directly opposite my intended target, his arms outstretched, firmly griping me in his right hand while his left hand acts as a steadying force, keeping me parallel with the ground. He skips toward the edge of the tee pad, tucking me close to his chest, turning his body forward, and then extending his right arm until it points directly at the basket. At this point, I feel his wrist snap into the final release, his hand relinquishing its grip on me, sending me into a rapid clockwise rotation straight down the lane. I see the sun’s reflection glimmering off the silver colored metal of my intended destination. The winds whip above, below, and all around me as I cut through the air like a fish propels itself through the water. Suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, a stout gust of wind knocks me off course; veering me to the right. “Go left! Left! Left!” he shouts the mantra to me, sending pure force of will through his words. I hear his call and fade toward the left, keeping the basket in sight. My aim is true and I float into the basket as if I were being carried by a cloud. Upon contact with the basket, the chains hug me to them; sucking me down to the bottom of the basket, where I rest waiting to be picked up and placed back into the bag. As he walks toward me, I hear him telling those he is playing against, “That’s why this Wraith is my favorite disc! It never disappoints me.” He reaches into the basket and removes me from the cold metallic embrace of the chains then wipes me with his towel; yet another habit formed through the years he has been playing this sport. He places me in his bag among the other discs until I am needed again and I know that I have the spirit of disc golf within my hard plastic form, as do all the other discs I share this bag with.