AUGUSTA – It’s the best light in the imaginable universe, right now, near twilight, this sharp-shadowed clear-eyed November in Georgia.
I’m not seeing it in person, nor are you, and even knowing what we know about all they do to be television-ready for the most famous American golf tournament, it draws us in.
There is art in it, at least as much as artifice.
The Masters is April, the azaleas and dogwoods and the optimistic light barely worried by finishing before dark. Today they didn’t, so tomorrow we’ll see Augusta in the early morning, in a different light, a light we’d never see in April.
What do they call the bridge by the pond with the orangey gold of deciduous mid-autumn in still-shot high resolution on its surface? I could look it up. All I know is the late-year color scheme lies well upon it.
I’ve never been there. I might never get there. It’s not real, we know that. Still it stays on the list, and almost certainly always will. For April, we always thought.