(So, I’ve been participating in a “writers’ flash mob” of sorts called Five Minute Friday. In response to a one-word prompt, hundreds of writers sit down and write for five minutes flat. No extreme editing; no worrying about perfect grammar, font or punctuation; unscripted and unedited. Here’s today’s edition…setting the timer….)
Five Minute Friday: Season
The baggy shirt and pants swallowed the small child as he strode to the plate, his helmet three times the size of his head.
The ball on the tee towered over him as he hoisted the bat to his shoulder.
He eyed the ball and, beyond the ball, other figures in similar baggy shirts and pants in various states of attention or distraction.
The dust from the field swirled around his feet as he squared them to the tee and took aim.
The bat thwacked the ball.
He stood still and tracked the ball with his eyes until one larger figure in the field waved energetically and yelled for him to run.
His feet began to move and he closed the dusty distance to a large lump on the field – first base.
The season had begun.
Weeks hence the feet of the final runner would find home and all the baggy-pants-wearing children would move on to the next season.
As they should.
Seasons come and go.