To passers by it looked

like a casual game of catch,

you and me tossing a scruffy old ball,

hearing it thwack into our soft leather mitts.

Grounders and pop-ups, short hops,

pegs to second, around the horn – the heater!

And time spent sharing a pleasure so simple

poets & philosophers have struck out

trying to measure it; as if a gift from God

needs explaining.

It was the spiritual connection of

two generations coming together

savoring one of life’s sweet spots.

It was endless giving and receiving,

love and happiness pitched and caught,

tossed back, caught once more,

again and again, back and forth, back

and forth across the yard, across the field,

across the years, until each catch is a memory

nesting in the well oiled webbing of my heart.



This entry was posted in Poetry. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *