Baseball in the Adirondack Sky

Baseball in the Adirondack Sky

By Paul Doty

Baseball fans have an equilibrium I can’t seem to find: a repose that rises as baseball orbits everyday life. I am facing east sweating into an LL Bean sweater, sun on my back, snow stuck to my skis contemplating fleet-footed baseball players and heavy-footed life.  If the world would suddenly spin like a curveball catching an outside corner, I might know whether I am heading toward or away from my car, where a phone the size of a lineup card sits muted. Adirondack silence, winter silence–yet today I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of the earth—the moonrise will be beautiful when it arrives, a sphere to pluck out of the sky. The logic of my predicament means a short drenched moonlit ski, assuming, like the fundamental predicament in baseball, I’m heading home. 

Paul Doty resides in St. Lawrence County New York, and is a librarian. He is a long-time Red Sox fan, his wife Agnes, is a Mets fan. They have a standing agreement to not discuss 1986.

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