Switchin' Flies

by Barney Nelson

I love Cowboy baseball. It's like sitting out on a breezy porch in the evening, watching the sunset. For a while the buzzards circle, heading to roost. When the sun goes down, the clouds are different every night: like the time the whole sky turned an inky pink with storm clouds banging around. Then the night hawks come out, hunting bugs attracted to the lights or a little spider decides to build a web in the netting right in front of the pitcher.
 
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