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Over the years my mom has collected these from her lush, rolling expanse of a yard, which were delivered by golfers' errant swings. Surely, they were additionally stamped with an appropriate curse word at the moment of Club-To-Ball contact. They jumble together in a large copper bowl on her veranda, equal parts decoration, convenience, and recycling.
I've always wondered how I would feel living that close to flying golf balls. With my luck I'd be out in my yard and CLUNK...down I'd go. She has a year round Easter egg hunt going on, doesn't she?
ReplyDeleteLove the caption!