I drift off to childhood where children spend hours on this sacred ground. The field is an escape to an age where a bat and a yarn filled, leather baseball could keep me employed for hours.

The bases were lined up to finish the puzzle set, creating a masterpiece. The powdered chalk placed true to the boundaries of the field. Through the years one thing remains the same; the field is still as calm as a sunset. Just like the dying sun, the field doesn’t show emotion, or make noise, or even argue. The natural beauty is a platform to play in. Between these lines of white chalk and the rusted chain linked fence no hatred or envy is permitted. Only love. Love for the game, love for teammates, and love for the field. 

Dense freshly cut grass, dying dandelions, and prickly pine trees litters the backdrop of the outfield. Hot, baking dirt covers the infield where ant nests are abundant. The infield dirt gathers to the center mound. This is where teams face, where competition is born, where celebrations ignite, or tears fall.

Sweat trickles down foreheads and passes through weary and tired eyeballs. Standing alone in the batters box creates unwanted anxiety. Wanting so badly to provide for the team, knowing you can deliver a game winning hit. Both sides grant no mercy to one another, fighting like Ali and Frazier. Two sides detest one another on the diamond, and embracing one another off of the field, however on the field is a different story. 

The ball floats and hangs in the air almost waiting for me to hit it. It begins its slow, curving descent towards home plate. The air is still and lonely, like a forest of trees left untouched located deep in the mountains of Colorado. My red oak bat extends and meets the ball head on, it stings my hands like a swarm of bees as splinters of wood get lodged in. The ball sails into the blue sky. 

I begin my trot, admiring the ball as it flies through the humid summer air. The white ball stood out from the blue, canvas sky like a cardinal in the snowy winter morning. The beauty of it all encompassed in one scene, from the scattered pines to the desert infield. I wish I could stay in this moment forever. Even if I had to jog for eternity around the same base path again, and again. But, reality hits as I round third base. I look towards home where my friends and teammates await to greet me. My trip around the bases is almost over. I begin to feel sad as I know I cannot be in this moment forever. However, I know this memory will stay with me forever. I am grateful for what this game and what this field has offered to me. The feeling of my foot as it embraces home plate reassures me that this field is my home.