The sun was setting. Ribbons of red-gold streaked the blue-becoming-orange water with color. A single droplet – like a tear – hung from the rail on the dock, capturing in its shape the beautiful azure sky.
There will be a party there. A graduation-from-high-school party. The place where the team had gathered after the game and fished and swam and roasted marshmallows.
The place where they had reflected on their season, and how it would be different next year.
The place where they had celebrated their championship.
They were little then, learning to leave the bat at home plate and not carry it with them around the bases.
The very first run ever scored in their history, yes, they could remember that one. The crack of the bat, the shouts from the stands, the emphatic plant of the foot on home plate and then returning to touch home plate again, just to make sure.
The memories. The team. The pride. The game.
All under a beautiful azure sky.
And now, with graduation, they would leave the warmup circle and step up once again.
That’s why there are tears at graduation.
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