Still, Spring is coming. Renewal. Growth. Baseball. Spring Break. Migration. It's hard not to be optimistic about Spring. There is a tangible notion of hope with the coming of Spring. It is a new day after a night's sleep. We all hibernate to some extent. It is Romantic (in the Wordsworth sense, not the Danielle Steele sense) and divine. One of my most telling memories of the seasonal change is on baseball. Let's face it; there's nothing quite like Spring Training. Despite the tremendous popularity of the NFL and the NBA, baseball somehow captures more in essence than any other professional sport. This has to do with Spring.
My two brothers and I walked up the road to my old middle school, Copper Beach. We could see our breath, with bat and ball in hand. Although there wasn't any snow on the ground, we had no business being out this early in the season; but that's what Spring and baseball does to a boy. For me, Spring Training had begun that day, and my brothers were the managers and coaches. I can't remember how many swings I didn't connect on; I can't remember how many pitches I didn't swing at; but I do remember there was blood...
I admit it. I'm guilty. I pick at scabs. All of the time. The result is a littering of scars. At last count I had 33 scars on my hands alone. One of them came from that Spring Training day. The vibrations caused from broken wooden bat meeting a baseball + breath-seeing weather = opening of scabs and trickling of blood. I wore it like a badge of honor. Blood from my hand running down into the awakening earth: the poetry of little league baseball. A fresh start of sorts. Embrace the daylight and make the most of now. It will never come again, but a new opportunity will always dawn.
Live for today and sleep for tomorrow,
Dragon James
