The smell of sunscreen and after-rain; weight of air with cooling humidity; sound of balls off metal bats, strike of ball to leather, and scratch of cleats on quick-dry infields.
I loved it when I was little. I love it still: watching my son living his own moments, games and memories.
Sun rises. Cool burns off and humidity becomes a heat. It’s all part of baseball, season of summer and little-boys’ lives (that grow up to be dads, grand-dads, and on—as God wills and blesses).
First pitch nears. I take all in, enjoying and grateful to be present, witness, and part within it all.