. . . again and again one catches beauty unawares
– W. H. Murray, Mountaineering in Scotland
The sunlight streams low across left field, stroking the baserunner’s arm and throat gold. His body tilts aslant, taut and fluid, as his right leg reaches beyond the third base bag, turning towards home. Beneath his feet puffs of dust gleam copper in the late-afternoon light.
Beauty that arrests.