The sun was beginning to peak over the high school and the wind was finally coming to an end. This one was the longest on the course, but there were no trees or obstacles between the tee and the hole, just a low field with the cage resting on a berm in the distance. I readied my first throw, knowing that distance was the key to this one. I hauled off and threw the frisbee as hard and as far as I could. It left my fingertips with the snap of my wrist and sailed up and out, just a bit to the right as I had intended. The slight angle caught the breeze and it should and began to slice to the left. That would work out just fine. The disc began its decent and finally landed with practicaly no bounce or roll. My friend had his first throw, a decent distance as well, and we marched forward for the second shot. I picked it up and decided that with this distance I would need to continue with my long distance disc. I threw again.
I don't remember exactly how the throw felt, but it seemed to me that it was a model of pure athletic perfection. I hear that's how it works when you get in the zone. The disc lanced towards the hole, a straight arrow burning towards the goal. I thought for sure it would rattle the cage as it hit the chains and dropped. The clanging rang out, a sound I imagine echoed through the neighborhood, alerting all to the beauty of a frisbee golf birdie shot of such immense distance. Surely they would have to come out of their quiet homes, awoken from their slumber, to see what the excitement was about.
Nothing stirred - the wind at a standstill, the birds quiet.
My buddy broke the silence, "nice shot, dude."
I suppose this art, my masterpiece written in aerodynamics, was for the two of us to enjoy this morning.
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