Ballgames and the lengthening days.
I thought I’d grow jaded watching the kids’ games, that the sweeping emotion would fade, become too matter of fact to notice. But, no. I’m sappier, brought near tears by each marvelous hit, each solid play, each time the catch comes at the end of a run and a stretch. I love effort as much as success; to play hard and have one’s head in the game means more than winning, means everything. All the sports cliches suddenly transcend their worn status, ring true and meaningful in that magic span between first pitch and last out.
I love the longer days, the early light and late. I pretend I have more time, appreciate the illusion that I’ll be able to get more done.