My most favorite part of the day is in the evening when the sun is setting. The sky lights up in the most fantastic colors. Some nights the light is muted, pastel pinks, oranges and sometimes a minty green. Other nights the light is vibrant, Day Glow colors, gold, bright orange.
As Jem starts his first flag football practice I take everything in. The colors, the sounds, the touch of the cold grass.
There is a small child, maybe two years old, with hair the color of straw playing on a lime green toy Kawasaki motorcycle.
A group of three women in walking suits hurry past as their iPods smack against the waistbands of their pants.
A group of about fifty high school students form a line to another field, boys and girls. They fool around for some time and then begin football practice.
There’s a light easterly breeze. The smaller trees bend as if they were made of elastic. The larger trees loom in the distance, a quiet rustling of leaves.
The boys are an hour into practice and now they tie on their red flags and get ready to make some plays. They laugh and huff as if they were out of breath.
A loud rumbling from behind my seat on the grass, someone is closing the enormous doors to the metal dumpster behind the snack bar.
A woman and a girl cross each others path walking their dogs. The older lady is smiling at her little grey terrier with a tuft for a beard. The young girl is roller skating behind her golden retriever.
The stadium lights turn on arubtly but they are no match for the sunset.
There’s a gruff voice calling the plays from an inexperienced coach, “Just one more. One more.”
The sheer boredom of the little girl who sits and watches her mother read from a magazine. She leans into her mother and rests her head on her mothers right shoulder.
The wind picks up and chills my arms. My hair sweeps over my eyes.
And Scout. She just sits and watched the light from the West. The colors dance on her face. They light up her innocence.