It’s June 25th.
I’m reading an article about Johnny Damon and the New York Yankees. Jeter. A-Rod. Randy Johnson. Giambi. Bernie Williams. Scheffield.
I drive home at night and I crack the moonroof to let some fresh air in. It smells — just a little bit — warm.
I throw shorts on when I get home. I walk outside. Some trees are flowering. Pinks, and a few greens. There’s a hint of pollen in the air.
I think about baseball. I think about sitting in a ballpark on a balmy night, humidity in the air, a light mist visible in the lights. I think about peanuts, and beer, and waiting for the next pitch.
I sit at home, at my computer. I hear aluminum bats making contact across the street at the baseball park at Oglethorpe University.
It’s February 27th. Baseball will be here soon. Summer will be here soon.
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