It begins, of course, in the Spring. The evenings grow lighter The air sweeter and all the world is filled With sweet optimism.
It continues through the long hot summer Humid evenings and long hot afternoons. It is a marathon not a sprint. Only one team each year wins the ultimate game
It leaves us in the Fall as Winterβs first foul Imprecations chill us to the marrow. Days darken and the sun seems absent.
It is both a faith and a fixation. Even in winterβs depths It speaks to us of spring and the hope of redemption.