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| 6am on the last day of July |
Its been hot of late. Not much breeze to speak of and that little fetching of wind that starts about 4pm along the ocean went away last week and hasn't had the good grace to return. Not even a fair-thee-well. Hrrrmph.
So we welcome in August and with it that feeling from childhood; last month before school starts, the ball field is just a dust bowl feeling, how come my green lawn is brown?. It always seemed too hot to move around much. Yesterday morning was one of those and it frankly spoiled my day.
There is a realization that comes at a certain age that as much as things are the same as a half century plus back in time, you are not. There will be an August dog day or week next year, just like last year and the year before that, but one soon won't be in any shape to compare to being 9 years old and stuck in centerfield, broiling like a bar-b-que and thinking "will this game ever end?".
Haze-hot mornings, when even the feast for the eyes as our waterfront might be, are just one more trot out to the ball field with legs that just don't seem to want to go any longer and it is self-clear that last few innings are in sight. Gads.
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