rejectomorph (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rejectomorph) wrote2003-10-20 05:47 am
rejectomorph) wrote2003-10-20 05:47 am
It Isn't Cricket
As I went out into the night, I heard something run away. It sounded like a small dog. I wonder if it might have been a fox? I used to hear them frequently, and saw them occasionally, but there has been no sign of them for several years. It might also have been a stray coyote. They, too, were once common. I would hear packs of them howling in the orchard, and sometimes, shining a flashlight down the block, I would see their eyes reflecting the light as they lurked among the trees. But the coyotes have been missing for several years, too. I'm sometimes surprised that the deer still bother to come around. The raccoons, of course, would visit even if we built skyscrapers and freeways here. Raccoons are very close to becoming as urban as rats. The squirrels, though -- they would keep mostly to the parks.
The hunter's moon is almost spent, and rose late, a mere cup of light rocking among the stars. Mars is growing dimmer, and Orion reaches the zenith a bit earlier each night. I caught a glimpse of a meteor a while ago. If I stayed out all night, I'd probably see more. But then I wouldn't have time to squander looking at baseball pictures.
No, I haven't developed baseball fever. It's just in the air. I used to play the game on the vacant lot across the street from my house until I was about twelve years old, and once had a number of baseball cards (which now might be quite valuable) which I traded for a bunch of postcards from the 1915 Panama-Pacific Exposition in San Francisco. Maybe that whiff of nostalgia floating on the autumn air sent me off in search of baseball pictures. Whatever one feels about the national pastime (15 minutes of excitement crammed into two hours,) you have to love a web site that posts picture albums of minor league teams such as the Stockton Ports right along with the big boys of the major leagues. Only on the Internet.
The hunter's moon is almost spent, and rose late, a mere cup of light rocking among the stars. Mars is growing dimmer, and Orion reaches the zenith a bit earlier each night. I caught a glimpse of a meteor a while ago. If I stayed out all night, I'd probably see more. But then I wouldn't have time to squander looking at baseball pictures.
No, I haven't developed baseball fever. It's just in the air. I used to play the game on the vacant lot across the street from my house until I was about twelve years old, and once had a number of baseball cards (which now might be quite valuable) which I traded for a bunch of postcards from the 1915 Panama-Pacific Exposition in San Francisco. Maybe that whiff of nostalgia floating on the autumn air sent me off in search of baseball pictures. Whatever one feels about the national pastime (15 minutes of excitement crammed into two hours,) you have to love a web site that posts picture albums of minor league teams such as the Stockton Ports right along with the big boys of the major leagues. Only on the Internet.
no subject
Every fall, I get a second case around Series time. This one's a bummer, though.
The rest of the time, sports don't exist for me.