George Ella Lyon is foremost, a poet. She explains herself as being one that is to see and sing the connection between things.
She relates life to a spider's web, a "delicious image for something newly made from old patterns," like sentences writers spin each day.
The strength for this "web" comes from family, friends, words, music, dreams, mountains, and the joy of making."
I humbly submit my personal side of this "global web."
THE LOVE OF THE GAME
I am from a baseball darting inside the foul line out to right field, the ball only inches from reach, escaping and landing on an explosion of powder from the chalk line as it neared the cheers of the right field patrons.
I am from cigar smoke and trashy mouths supporting their favorite teams. The aromas and fragrance met with eyebrows raised, arms violently thrown up and down in the air, and a single stream of tobacco juice quietly running down a chin.
I am from the stillness of a last pitch, the ninth inning with two outs. All eyes focused, the quiet air suddenly breaks out. It was a thunderous boom! "Strike Threeeeeeeee."
I am from the sound of a bat, taking your breath away. it wasn't the loudness it made, it was the depth of its sound...the crowd knew.
I am from a young man sitting at the corner of a dugout bench, filled with chewed up sunflower seeds shells, empty Gatorade cups, and cigarette butts, splashed in tobacco juice. Leftover dreams filled with only echoes of the now silent stadium. The only sound heard were...his tears.
I am from a baseball thrown with all one's might toward the catcher's mitt, only to see the ball reverse direction as it quietly sailed over a wooden fence in center field. The crowd was silent, then reversed its direction, becoming very loud.
I am from Babe, Mickey, Sandy, and Willie. Leaning on ball bats, sitting on top of the dugouts, throwing a ball back and forth. These are my heroes!
I am from the tarp spread across the diamond by the groundskeepers. My voice uttering "Rain, rain, go away, please comeback some other day."
I am from a time my right forefinger traced the letters on my jersey that covered my proud chest. "Mom, don't forget to iron around the collar...I am pitching today!"
I am from a time I swung and missed. As I turned, eyes coming from the dugout were looking down. The coach walked by me where I sat, tapped me on the shoulder and said, " That was a nasty curve ball."
I am from a time I wore "my colors" true! They called us..."The Boys of Summer."
She relates life to a spider's web, a "delicious image for something newly made from old patterns," like sentences writers spin each day.
The strength for this "web" comes from family, friends, words, music, dreams, mountains, and the joy of making."
I humbly submit my personal side of this "global web."
THE LOVE OF THE GAME
I am from a baseball darting inside the foul line out to right field, the ball only inches from reach, escaping and landing on an explosion of powder from the chalk line as it neared the cheers of the right field patrons.
I am from cigar smoke and trashy mouths supporting their favorite teams. The aromas and fragrance met with eyebrows raised, arms violently thrown up and down in the air, and a single stream of tobacco juice quietly running down a chin.
I am from the stillness of a last pitch, the ninth inning with two outs. All eyes focused, the quiet air suddenly breaks out. It was a thunderous boom! "Strike Threeeeeeeee."
I am from the sound of a bat, taking your breath away. it wasn't the loudness it made, it was the depth of its sound...the crowd knew.
I am from a young man sitting at the corner of a dugout bench, filled with chewed up sunflower seeds shells, empty Gatorade cups, and cigarette butts, splashed in tobacco juice. Leftover dreams filled with only echoes of the now silent stadium. The only sound heard were...his tears.
I am from a baseball thrown with all one's might toward the catcher's mitt, only to see the ball reverse direction as it quietly sailed over a wooden fence in center field. The crowd was silent, then reversed its direction, becoming very loud.
I am from Babe, Mickey, Sandy, and Willie. Leaning on ball bats, sitting on top of the dugouts, throwing a ball back and forth. These are my heroes!
I am from the tarp spread across the diamond by the groundskeepers. My voice uttering "Rain, rain, go away, please comeback some other day."
I am from a time my right forefinger traced the letters on my jersey that covered my proud chest. "Mom, don't forget to iron around the collar...I am pitching today!"
I am from a time I swung and missed. As I turned, eyes coming from the dugout were looking down. The coach walked by me where I sat, tapped me on the shoulder and said, " That was a nasty curve ball."
I am from a time I wore "my colors" true! They called us..."The Boys of Summer."
