© 2010, Marc Denny

As was its custom, as the day gathered warmth the cool, moister air over the Pacific Ocean rolled into the lesser pressure left behind by the rising drier air of the mainland. As it rustled through the trees the wind glided up the rise that ran along the coast in these parts which was nothing more than a glorified sand dune that ran north-south about one quarter of a mile east of the beach.

As it crested in one particular spot and swept down the eastern slope of the dune, it paused ever so briefly to survey the open spaces on the south side of a large high school’s sports fields. It was surrounded by the kind of neighborhood where the school could let the neighborhood use the fields when the school was closed and so, although the school was surrounded by suitable fences, the gate to the driveway that ran through the sports fields to the back side of the school buildings was open.

The fields were being changed from natural grass to the ganzfeld of a modern synthetic field. The first one to be completed was the lowest one– the football field, which also had lacrosse lines marked on it as well. Although it did not have the soul of true mother earth, it did have perfect consistency in resilience, traction, and surface. As the lowest field it naturally sat in a somewhat bowl like topology which allowed for arena like bleachers on the south side of the field. To its east was another glorified sand dune, not as big as the first one.

This particular Sunday was part of a three day weekend. Although most of the tennis courts were in use, the fields were almost empty. Two ten year old boys, elated by the the World Cup, played taking penalty shots at one end of the football field. Two old men ambled along the inside lanes of the track around the field and a track coach was introducing a grade school boy to the motions of the shot put.

At the other end of the field a grey haired man moved with a six foot long lacrosse defense stick along the lacrosse lines on the ground defining the area around the goal. The wind passed through the man’s nostrils and in and out of his lungs as he waved the stick around in a deranged blend of martial art and lacrosse movements while he defended the zone around the goal. Its sound in his ears silenced the words in his mind and all was well.
Its work done, the wind left him there and continued east up the face of the next dune and over its crest.

Punong Guro “Crafty Dog” Marc Denny