Aiming for the Marker

I pressed the pointed tip of my yellow golf tee into the soft patch of clover right beside the stone border. It sank deep into the dark soil until just the flared top stayed clear of the grass. Stepping back four paces onto the brick edge, I set down a smooth brown acorn I picked up under the hedge. I lined up my stance, gave the acorn a crisp nudge with the side of my shoe, and paused to listen. It rolled cleanly across the clover and tapped the yellow peg with a sharp little clink. Right on target.