I grew up in upstate New York, and, while never a baseball player, I can still hear the creaks and…

Erika Burkhalter

Nov 25, 2018·1 min read

I grew up in upstate New York, and, while never a baseball player, I can still hear the creaks and feel the forced heat in those indoor gyms in the winter.

Erika Burkhalter

Photographer, yogi, cat-mom, lover of travel and nature, spreading amazement for Mother Earth, one photo, poem or story at a time. (MA Yoga, MS Neuropsychology)

Because as I write this it’s -14 here in upstate New York. Baseball does not announce the coming of spring. Baseball IS spring. It is a melting of bitter darkness, an end to our reliance on sweaty, squeaky indoor sports, a gushing forth of rivulets of hope from the frozen past of the season before, a bright sunlit new promise. The New Year does not start January 1. It starts in April.

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Photographer, yogi, cat-mom, lover of travel and nature, spreading amazement for Mother Earth, one photo, poem or story at a time. (MA Yoga, MS Neuropsychology)