Pome: Playing Rounders When A Kid

Running free

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A flag American Footie game, down from my hotel, The Starling at mid-town, Atlanta. Pic: Paradisio Publishing

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Playing Rounders When A Kid

there was always something timeless

playing rounders as a kid

the open green field

the sun a yellow wonder

the cooling breeze

bases marked out

players waiting to bat

or out on the grass

the competition

the game of it all

engulfed in the dreamtime kidhood paradise, moments lazed away

all else gone

and the heat warming soothing, the pages of a storybook taking us all somewhere which might have been nowhere

and the WHACK of bat on ball

orb spiralling up in to the air of this universe

sweet parabola coming, now, towards me

and running, running like i’d never be caught, never be constrained, told what do -

a freedom run across the sward,

across and through and into my life, existence, the miraculous one off we all have,

my arms going out, hands/fingers unfurling to take

the catch

and feel that being here is the lightest of touches

a gossamer kiss

and how life

was never ending and i would always be this -

knowing, precisely, then, out in the summerburnt longgrass

THIS:

running running running running

free -