It’s dusk outside as I write. There’s something about dusk that makes me nostalgic. As a kid, it was the time when you got those last bits of play under your belt before you were called into the house for the evening.

You kept throwing that ball until you could hardly see it coming. You missed more than you caught. When you were finally afraid you’d lose it, you reluctantly quit playing ball.

After supper, and nightfall, if it was decent weather, you sat on the front porch and watched the lamplighter with this little ladder ascend and light the gas lights.

It is a nostalgic moment, not to be repeated.

But now, I live in the dusk period of life. I still have the desire to play ball until it’s no longer possible to do so. So far, I haven’t reached the stage when I’m losing too many balls. So, as long as possible, I intend to keep throwing and receiving them.

One day the lamplighter will fail to come and it will be time to hand in my glove. But right now, I’m, still in the game, so—

“Let’s play ball!”