The Snowmobile

           Sometimeaftermidnight,whiletheyallsleptuneasily,thesnowhadstoppedafterdumpingafresheightinchesontheoldcrust.Thecloudshadbroken,afreshwindhadsweptthemaway,andnowJackstoodinadustyingotofsunlight,whichslantedthroughthedirtywindowsetintotheeasternsideoftheequipmentshed.

           Theplacewasaboutaslongasafreightcar,andaboutashigh.Itsmelledofgreaseandoilandgasolineand-faint,nostalgicsmell-sweetgrass.Fourpowerlawnmowerswererankedlikesoldiersonreviewagainstthesouthwall,twoofthemtheridingtypethatlooklikesmalltractors.Totheirleftwerepostholediggers,round-bladedshovelsmadefordoingsurgeryontheputtinggreen,achainsaw,theelectrichedge-clippers,andalongthinsteelpolewitharedflagatthetop.Caddy,fetchmyballinundertensecondsandthere’saquarterinitforyou.Yes,sir.

           Againsttheeasternwall,wherethemorningsunslantedinmoststrongly,threePing-Pongtablesleanedoneagainsttheotherlikeadrunkenhouseofcards.Theirnetshadbeenremovedandfloppeddownfromtheshelfabove.Inthecornerwasastackofshuffleboardweightsandaroqueset-thewicketsbandedtogetherwithtwistsofwire,thebrightlypaintedballsinanegg-cartonsortofthing(strangehensyouhaveuphere,Watson…yes,andyoushouldseetheanimalsdownonthefrontlawn,ha-ha),andthemallets,twosetsofthem,standingintheirracks.