I came home one day to find someone had put a golf ball into my living room window.

You have to have a pretty bad slice to land a ball in my living room. The guy who did this didn't so much as leave an apologetic note.

I was really upset about this. It's more hassle than I need.

And it's not the first time this has happened, even though the last time the ball came through a screen.

I started to notice the patterns and shapes into which the glass had broken.

It was interesting to watch it sag and fall.

It was like some giant spider had put her web in my window.

Sometimes the noise startled me as the glass gradually fell out, like ice melting off the house in the spring.

The golfer must have at least suspected it was his ball that broke my window, yet he couldn't be bothered to leave a note. I hoped the guy who did this felt really silly. I hoped he was reminded of it every time he golfed here during the long time I waited for the window to be repaired.

I keep finding glass in my flowerbed.

I still have the golf ball.