Endless summer days; picnics in the park; the annual parent (unbeaten) vs. child shortened-base-paths (for the parent’s benefit) baseball game; the first ‘whopper’ photo-op at but three years of age.
They – and us along with them – grow up.
Too fast.
Somehow, too fast.
Leaf-filtered morning sunshine gives way to the dying, but colorful, fog-bound leaves of Autumn; and, as the so-few years go by, dad, who once played high school ball, gets struck out by his son on three high heat fastballs right down the heart of home plate.
Too fast.
Not sure if he even saw the ball.
The first grandson. His first fish. Mounted – the picture – on the wall.
Reflections. Of a time, of a moment in time, of the passage of time.
And why those times matter so much.
