It’s Fall: the crisp air scuttles leaves along sidewalks, sparrows transport construction one twig at a time into abandoned air conditioners, and the Red Sox are up one game in the play-offs. My eyes are slightly red-rimmed from sitting glued to the television until 1:20 am; my knees ache from two hours of yogi-style bending, and my sleep-deprived brain is is repeating simple words while grasping for sentences. Yet I feel young and alive, mentally replaying in a fanatic manner the stretched limbs of Jon Lester, pitches rolling off extended fingers, and the side-diving catch of lightning-legged Ellsbury, black eyes riveted to the ball as if to magnetize it to his gloved hand. Ah, October!
ADDENDUM: Aw, shucks! –Wait’ll next year…
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