The Field of Dreams

Walking out onto the plush, green, plastic grass, my footsteps disappear-there is no sound. The sun is at my back, high on the edge of the golden, brown leaves, blazing a path that runs toward the goal line. Softly I walk toward the bench and there is no sound. The stands are empty, cold and gray, waiting to spring to life. The score board is black, wiaiting to come to digital life. The lights remain off, towering high above the trees. No need to make a call to Iowa today, it will all be over before darkness falls.

I walk toward the bench, sitting in the late afternoon shadows, and I feel a chill at my back. In spite of the sun's warmth, it is going to get chilly, quickly. I lean back and listen to the silence...for a few more minutes, my face searching for the sun's sinking rays. The field is expansive, green, and silent, waiting for the whistle that will signal the beginning for one team, the beginning of the end for another. It is a field of dreams. The final home game of the season. In just minutes the switch will ignite the scoreboard, counting down the 25 minutes before the game begins.

As the home team makes their way to the end line to begin their dynamic stretching, they are relatively quiet. There is idle chit chat and nervous laughter, but it is not loud. They are not confident or cockey. They are at the same time nervous and excited and edgy. I am finding it hard to sit still, watching silently from my bench. but I stay seated for a few more minutes, basking in the late afternoon glow on this field of dreams.