Under the radiant sky, my daughter and I embarked on a day baseball game.
We passed the old Fidelity Transfer Company on 7th Street which revealed in silent poetry the impact of the structures we leave behind.
Where the eye is granted dominion, the lens of my iPhone captured a glimpse at the story of an aging iron rail bridge.
Graffiti artists, whose identities lay concealed in the shadows of anonymity, used the bridge and its concrete surroundings as their canvas, making it a testament to free expression.
Busch stadium finally beckoned, always evoking awe as I enter. The vibrant sea of fans in that moment allowed us to be part of a collective heartbeat.
Oh my god was it hot and no shade.
With each pitch and crack of the bat, the symphony of the game unfolded before us. Amidst the action, we savored the subtleties of this beautiful game.
As the sun cast a golden hue, the final inning approached, and the Cardinals blew another late inning lead. A bittersweet melancholy settled upon me. I like to believe the bond between father and daughter grew stronger sweating out today. Nevertheless I have this beautiful memory to share because of a game I love so much.
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