And, when the last island of snow have sunk into the expanding sea of grass, the mind becomes engaged by the diamond of spring, allowing the body to settle into it's familiar pattern, counting balls and strikes keeping track of outs, and rediscovering skills which have been honed at youth.

And, here the body stays. Occupying the world it has chosen to inhabit until the orange sun begins to sink into the sky, hovering behind home plate as it threatens to bring the game to an unnatural conclusion.

A conclusion which plays upon the minds of the participants who have begun to weary of the monotonous motions of the sport, and grow frustrated by the lumpy limes of chalk which fence their actions off from the outside world. And as the long August days dwindle into the breezy hours of October, the chill of the impending season intrudes upon the hearts, encouraging them to play with one last surge of violent desperation before the November rains force them to go home.

Home, where walls fence out the bitter winds of January,and keep them safely hidden from a world which has grown mysterious and unfamiliar with the advent of winter. Shelter in the rooms, the wall remind them of the walls within the soul which strain against relentless advance of the inner darkness, slowly giving way,until all that remains inside is a green field illuminated by the Orange August Sunset And in this room I seek shelter from the sharp hailstones, waiting stubbornly for the first robin to appear and living for the day when I can teach my son to hold a baseball loosely in his hands.

-Dave TenEyck-