March 28, 1997 Friday
During the away game last night in Wyoming, Illinois something happened. It was the top of the fifth inning, and our team was in the field. Sunfall had come, and the field’s lights were warming, having just come on. I was along the left field line, about parallel with the Brimfield left fielder. I was facing the diamond, but I was not in the game at the time. I was playing catch with Jeremy Biggs. After I caught it a particular time, with a pop in my glove, I looked into the evening sky beyond and above the field. I threw back to Biggs.
The clouds were hanging heavy in the heavens, basked in brilliant pinks and oranges. By now the ball was making its return trip to me. I caught it, and took the leather ball in my hand. I turned it over, and felt the stitching. I flung it back to Biggs. The air was warm, comforting, with the slightest of a fragrant breeze. I gazed out once again, to the field where the game was progressing. Nine Brimfield defenders were crouched, ready for the next pitch. The crowd lightly buzzed with some wafts of laughter and cheers for Wyoming. The batter struck the ball, and the fielders moved like clockwork to their places, and the ball dropped into center for a hit. The small hometown crowd clapped and shouted.
I called out to Biggs then, who was waiting for my next throw, “It’s perfect!.. Right now everything is perfect.” And it was. I knew that I would want to remember this instant forever, a moment to be bottled and stored away as the dust grows thick on its glass. In that tranquil moment everything rested in harmony, and I was happy.