This year’s pilgrimage to the ballpark was an especially apt transition from the mad wonder of 2014 to the uncertain promise of the coming spring. Delayed by a plumbing problem, we arrived late. The weather was fine as anything we had the right to expect, given the snow we’ve trudged through and ice we’ve slid over in years past.
Though the stadium complex was empty save a single, chatty security guard, the World Series lingered still in the fading paint on a nearby hill. I paid it a visit, took pictures and scattered my glitter among the chips of red, white and blue.
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