Wilson

This season, it's Wilson of the round, orange type. I found this one, probably more or less deflated, near an old shed on the rental property. When I saw it I thought of all its symbolism in the way our winters play out now. I felt many ideas to chase down and write about, but that was this morning. Because of the long, arduous journey of the basketball season, I'm pretty much running on empty in the p.m. when it's not a game night. So all of those writing possibilities that came alive this morning have vanished in the exhaustion of the evening. I know they'll come back between now and season's end, now only a month or so away, and if I'm vigilant and aware, I'll jot them down and put them all together. There is so much more to it than dribbling and shooting baskets, more than winning and losing. I'll try to get those thoughts clear.