It is when the sun sits low in the sky like a child’s giant orange sucker.
It is when the crickets have retreated to the after-grass while the shadows curl lazily around the maples.
It is when the air is crisp and has the faint smell of cedar embers from an early season fire.
It is when leaves rustle with the faintest of breezes, their edges just beginning to turn.
This is when the Red Sox suck most.
~Joe
5 days left
It is when the crickets have retreated to the after-grass while the shadows curl lazily around the maples.
It is when the air is crisp and has the faint smell of cedar embers from an early season fire.
It is when leaves rustle with the faintest of breezes, their edges just beginning to turn.
This is when the Red Sox suck most.
~Joe
5 days left
2 comments:
Joe,
You, Al and Max are in my prayers for a successful surgery and speedy recovering. I am sure that, as usual, Chicken Salvati will come out swinging. I leave you with the lyrics from my favourite song. If I could I would sing it for you. :-)
"525,600 minutes, 525,000 moments so dear. 525,600 minutes — how do you measure, measure a year? 525,600 minutes! 525,000 journeys to plan. 525,600 minutes — how can you measure the life of a woman or man?
In daylights, in sunsets, in midnights, in cups of coffee. In inches, in miles, in laughter, in strife. In 525,600 minutes — how do you measure a year in the life?
How about love?
Measure in love. Seasons of love."
J.S. you have all this in spades.
much love,
M.
Finally, something in your blog that was so good and emotional that it made me cry.
Go Yankees!
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