Day 08 – A moment, in great detail

The Sun blazing overhead, the grass green and tickling my flip-flop wearing feet. There is a light breeze blowing my hair into my face. Brushing it aside I squint at the sky in front of me. Clouds slowly drift in the background of my sight, fuzzy behind the baseball that has my eyes' focus. I stand in the "ready" position my mom taught me so long ago, when she first taught me the art of softball. The ball is flying closer now, above my head with a gentle arch that will eventually send it plummeting down towards my outstretched glove. Ha! I laugh to myself as I think of the argument I had earlier with Nathan about whether it was a mitt or a glove. I hold to mitt, but for his sake I will try to call it a glove in his presence. I love this kind of a throw, though. The fly balls, the ones that fly high into the sky and then arch down right on top of their target. Not quite as painful as the straight shots Ruben likes to shoot at you as if his arm was a cannon and you were the enemy troops coming in for battle. Those pound into the glove and if by some unhappy reason you catch it on your palm then it will sting for the next hour. But this throw? It is wondrous. I get ready, my glove is poised to catch, I am ready to declare victory. There is that nervous excitement I always feel, scared of the ball but unwilling to give up. And now the ball is falling... SMACK. One of the great sounds of spring and summer. The baseball has hit the glove. And now I am ready to pass it on.