Meditations On The Season, Almost Passed

I rub my eyes and

Desert dust falls into my hand

Dust, hot and dry

In my eyes since early March

When games didn't count

When every player had promise

Every now and then

My nose feels ticklish

A reminder of spring’s pollen

Pollen, from grass

Freshly cut in April

When the season was new

When every fan had hope

Every now and then

I close my eyes and

I see the game and

The game within the game

What to throw

High or low

In or out

How big a lead

How much to lean

When to run

Who to pitch

Who to bat

Infield in or infield out

Every now and then

I sit quietly and

I hear the roar of the crowd

The crowd, screaming, stomping

At the called third strike

At the diving catch

At the walk-off hit

Every now and then

I open my heart and

I feel the anguish

The anguish, oh the anguish

From the costly error

From the blown save

From the painful injury

From the season that slipped away

Every now and then

I close my eyes

I sit quietly and

I dream

I dream

Of returning to the desert

Of feeling the dust in my eyes

Of watching players full of promise

Of smelling freshly cut grass

Of hearing the roar of the crowd

Of feeling full of hope

Of starting all over again