As we head into a new season, and the trees take on the flamboyant camouflage of gold and tangerine, and the air smells crisp like fresh clean sheets hanging on a clothes line, it seems the fear and uncertainty around COVID-19 lingers on.
I know this, and in the shadows of my mind where worry and fear can play havoc if I decide to let them come out of hiding, I worry.
I worry about the teachers. I worry about the students. I worry when I get groceries and when I forget to remember to not touch my face when I am out in public.
I worry about stuff like that and I try to remember to follow the rules, but being me, sometimes I forget.
And sometimes I forget to worry.
For example, when another day dawns so bright and beautiful and, outside my kitchen window, I get a glimpse of the sun burning a golden sphere through the silhouettes of trees, still bravely wearing their summer dresses, I just get happy.
I have to say I love fall, even though black and white pictures of what is coming are there, in the photograph album of my mind.
Oh, well, the universe is unfolding as it should and, no doubt, we would not be so grateful for summer if it burned hot and bright and beautiful right through the calendar year.
As the remnants of the season slowly disappear, I have managed to enjoy some late summer fun.
I went golfing the other day with my brother-in-law and it was incredibly fun.
He and I had gone golfing together years ago on another soft, still autumn day when golf balls mysteriously disappeared into nowhere land partially because of the season and partly because that seems to happen to golf balls sometimes.
Anyway, he got a hole in one that game after making a perfect drive, long and straight down the fairway.
There was no hole in one shot made this game.
But, still with the sun shimmering on the fairway like about a million diamonds and the golf course itself groomed to picture perfection, it seemed like a hole in one kind of day just because we were lucky enough to be out there.
And, then there is always that one shot.
You know, when you become one with the little white ball. And when you take your practice swing, you feel the swish of the grass on your club head just like your supposed to.
And then you bend your knees slightly, take the swing and you hear nothing but a staccato crack when the ball connects with the club.
And as the ball soars into the blue sky and joy wells up inside you, you cannot help but thinking, “Wow! I love this game.”
Yes, it has happened to me. All the above. Not a lot, but enough.
Enough to keep me coming back.
Call it hope! Call it optimism! Call it what you want!
It is fun. It is good. And it is so much better than worrying!
Treena Mielke is a central Alberta writer. She lives in Sylvan Lake with her family.