This morning woke up in a damp, grey fog like they get in the mountains. After about an hour, though, the sun worked its way through to start warming up the air.
It's the start of baseball season. I'm really only excited in sympathetic vibration with a few diehard fans, only realizing it was today because of some posts on facebook. I think, in the game of life, you're either a pitcher or a hitter. The hitters expect mostly fastballs and then are always surprised when they are thrown a curveball. The pitchers know what's coming next, following a loose plan of attack to keep the hitters off guard. For me, I think I've mostly been a hitter but have been slowly drifting to the pitching staff. These days, I'm pretty much my own pitcher and hitter, throwing myself curveballs and then seeing if I can hit them. This entire discussion grew out of a pain in my elbow--a tangible, physical pain--that made me wonder if I was throwing too many curveballs. Maybe I should give myself a break and just throw some fastballs, increase my batting average.
"Sports are to War as pornography is to Sex." A quote from some TED talk I heard recently.
With no coffee or food in the house or in my system, I took a walk. Got coffee and then ambled on to the beach. The fog was resisting the sun's advances, but eventually gave up. I got to catch a couple of those moments.
On the way to the beach, the sun called forth steam from a damp road.
When I first got to the beach, the water in the air was hiding the water on the ground.
I saw a pair of bluebirds that got scared when I sneezed.
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