A Baseball World

I remember when a new baseball was my world. As I took it from its box, I admired its unmarred ivory beauty and felt its perfect roundness in my young hand. I carefully turned the white globe until my fingers and thumb found their place along its red, raised seams and smooth cover. Then, as I lifted it to my face, I inhaled its leathery cowhide scent, as if I were smelling the fragrant petals of a pearly rose. The ball spoke of Tufted grassy outfields with Dusty white-chalked diamonds and Rough-cut wooden benches in dugouts made of blocks. The ball spoke of Sizzling wisps of fastballs igniting Wooden bat explosions and Tanned hands of leather popping while grabbing red hot liners. The ball spoke of Perfect sweet spot slugs reverberating down through tight muscles Before breathless flights to empty bases and Strawberry stings of hook slides into tagging waves of hands. In its state of simple perfection, my baseball had no equal. No time marked its progressions through catches, throws, and hits. I could never possess all the knowledge that lay deep within its cover though the years that I spent learning its secrets flew quickly through my hands. Today, I long to step onto a field and put the baseball back in action- to let it dance with its carefree grace and to return my youthful presence to a dream world pulled from a little cardboard box. I think human souls eternal may play baseball in their heaven since baseball was a true slice of heaven to many, like me, while on earth.