Short Stories

A Cool, Crisp Air Night

A Cool, Crisp Air Night

They played the long par three back towards the clubhouse and the setting sun. The horizon burned like embers of a spent fire, orange and yellow ascending to the light then dark blue of the night sky. The westerly blew into their faces, now red with chill. Their eyes watered and lips chapped. The air tightened the skin over their cheeks; the bags under their eyes receded. They were invigorated. They felt alive.