|Ah, those Little League days...|
Now the older boys play as the sun sets and the temperature drops into the range of comfortable. The rich green of the outfield against amethyst mountains, a lone green umbrella of a tree just beyond the right field dugout, the hum of the lights slowly growing brighter all mix with bird and boy whistles and the scent of disturbed dirt in a summertime memory cocktail. These days will flit over the fence all too soon as well, until the next generation picks up a ball.
For now, I'm savoring these evening outings. Yes, the intensity is quite different; losses are no longer easily soothed over with ice cream. But the music plays on: a classic melody of children laughing, mothers cheering, girls giggling, and fathers yelling encouragement while the boys of summer pound out the beat with bats, balls, and gloves against the dirt.
So chill that watermelon and pack the cooler with bottles of Gatorade. The rhythm of the season is in full swing.