There was grass.
There were animals.
I burned when we got to the sand, but I didn't shy away.
It was interesting to see the designs in the sand. Deep spots. Thin spots. The textured lines that were raked into the terrain.
And where there was sand, there was water. The bodies were fresh, some deep and others shallow.
There was a rhythm and a calm about the whole environment. It was like I had it down pat.
Left to see thick grass under the shade of a pine.
Right to get a look at thinner grass under the shade of a full maple.
Left to look at a willowy bush.
Right to see some of the lower grass.
Left to see another majestic maple before heading right to see more wooded areas along a low creek.
Then, like the Horse with No Name, I came through the desert and got to where the desert turned to sea.
A pattern started.
Sand, sand, water. Sand, sand, water. Sand, sand, water. I felt like I was at a Suns game when they kick up the stomp, stomp, clap part of "We Will Rock You."
Nature was so beautiful while being so aggravating. I was hot, sweaty and feeling really inadequate in my surroundings.
The commute through nature was a product of playing golf for the first time in more than two years. I saw every nook and cranny of Black Rock Golf Course.
If anyone is looking for the million bucks that they will be giving away in the summer "Treasure Hunters" series, I have some ideas where to look.
I could say that my score promoted good economics. I got more strokes for the dollar than most.
We got to the 18th hole. I drove left into the short rough. Hit a second shot into the drink. I was in the water so much, my fingers were getting wrinkled. Then, after more drops than a Baltimore Ravens receiver, I pitched onto the green, 10 feet from the hole.
With a sigh of relief, I stepped up to putt. I played it right to left and it trickled into the cup.
I raised my hands in triumph. I had just finished "The Amazing Race." I was last, but I finished.
But what they say about golf is true.
It's time to get out in the fresh air. Relax (as long as you hit the ball). Spend some good time with friends.
And in it all, you get that one shot that makes you want to come back and play again.
My putt on 18 was that shot.
And I'll be back ... probably in another two years.
By then, all the flaws I put into nature's glory will have grown back.
Bob Parasiliti is a staff writer for The Morning Herald. His column appears every other Tuesday. He can be reached at 301-733-5131, ext. 2310, or by e-mail at email@example.com