The trees swinging in the wind,
a baseball player swings his bat in the on-deck circle.
The brown leaves flying through the air,
as a line drive falls into the cold, stiff, frozen, October grass.
The snow falling quickly, down directly from the sky,
an infield pop-fly.
The ice growing over the ponds,
the tarp spreading over the infield during a rainfall.
The sun coming out from behind the clouds and shining brightly,
like Francisco Liriano.
The snow melting,
like a pitcher facing Pedro Alvarez with the bases loaded.
The skies clearing,
like the benches after a pitcher hits the batter.
Joel Hanrahan warming up in the bullpen,
the weather in late spring.
The flowers blooming after a long, cold winter,
my team breaking out after many years of not making the playoffs,
the sun shining down on the fields in the mid-July heat,
like Clint Hurdle's wisdom enlightening so many ball players.
The sunflowers blooming,
their seeds feeding all of the playoff-hungry ball players.
Another regular season has come and gone.

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