Endings

And so it comes. The leaves hinted with warning colors, the rains tapped windows to let us know, but now, tonight, is the last day of summer. The last pitch will be thrown, the final out recorded, the smell of roasted peanuts will fade from memory. No sound on Earth can mimic the sound of a bat on ball, nor the pop of leather when that hit is stolen away and so we all must wait for these simple pleasures through the long cruel winter and anticipate. So strike a match and light the fire, hunker down and wait because the sun will surely shine again, cotton candy will be spun, and the cry of "play ball!" will inevitably overcome the lonely winds of winter.

Ps. this is probably Raul's last game in the Major Leagues, tip of the cap man, loved watching you play. pss. he hit this pitch out of the park. :-)

Done