DUSK FALLS PURPLE as the electric whirring of golf carts begins to fade, each note individually consumed as the carts disappear into a distant barn. The barn itself is aglow with fluorescents as steam hisses into the descending darkness, product of the course staff's efforts to scour away the day's mud and clippings. The lawnmowers are parked as the sprinklers kick on, whoosh-whoosh-click-click-click-clicking mindlessly into the night. Dragonflies as large as house sparrows swish low over the ponds, and the lily pads slowly quake with some subaqueous creature's passing.

Now is the time.