Catch

One of the most telling signs that spring has finally emerged from its sequestered hibernation is the late afternoon sun, bathing the earth in its splendor and making it almost impossible not to bask in its glory.

I played catch for the first time this year.  My arm hurt the next day but, nevertheless, there I was playing catch yet again.  The extended beauty of the sun's rays almost demands that we enjoy it.  I'm reminded of Shoeless Joe Jackson in Field of Dreams when talking about the joy and rewards of baseball.  When you're a great ballplayer, people wait on you and give you brass beds and brass spitoons but, at the very core, it's just a game.  You don't deserve all the adulation; you'd play for food money.  It's all about the smell of the fresh cut grass and the new cowhide.  It's so easy.

Having a catch reminded me of that simple truth.  When the world seems endlessly stressful and things just don't work out the way we always imagine them to, we can take solace in the purity that comes from a little back and forth with the baseball.  We can turn off the outside distractions and, if for only a few minutes, focus on the ball hitting glove and smile.  We can revel in the intrinsic beauty and everlasting pleasures, especially when you get to share those moments with someone you genuinely care about.  It's pretty dang close to perfection.