Diamond Past the Pines

I love walking beneath this cathedral of creaking pines,

Down the aisles of overgrown forest-born pews
With the holy ferns all humming hymns of nature

As I emerge onto the edge of a sea of faded glory.

You can find ghosts here, haunting the lonely stretches of the field,

Between the bases and open expanses of the outfield.

You need to marvel at the wonder of this place

As children perform this ballet of bat and ball and bases.

There is a sweet science found in the perfect swing

And satisfaction in the sound of that lightning strike.

There is innocence and wonder in these things,

Tied so deeply to the past and this land.

I like this marriage of beauty and melancholy, 

Like when something innocent is the last of its kind

Or a moment holding precious fleeting perfection.

So I blinked and the kids were long gone and grown.

Silence sweeps back onto the field in waves with the wind
And this place becomes a monument to those who came before.
The birds of the air and insects of the ground rule here instead
So now where children should be laughing and running
We have this hallowed sacred silent ground.

The sun is setting now beyond the pine steeples

And the amber light turns all the rust back to gold.

Long stretching shadows hold long echoing voices

And for a brief moment this world has been restored.

Now I must leave this place, among the last of its kind,

Night has come down for this old diamond past the pines.