The little tulips have poked their leaves through the years-old mulch, and there’s a snow storm in the forecast for Thursday that will likely stomp them all.
It is spring, life’s yearly renaissance. The morning of our annual day. The morning shower we look forward to after our long winter sleep.
I have reached the point in my life where it is hard to delineate baseball’s role in that. As the snow melts and the evenings grow brighter, so, too, come the cracks of the bats, the backdoor sliders, the cans of corn, and the inning-ending 6-4-3s.