by Celeste Johnston
In this lost year . . .
There were moments . . . there was heaven.
One moment of pure bliss, one moment of pure joy.
One moment for which there is truly only one word.
Euphoria . . .
One night in July on the road. Well . . . AT&T South . . .
Time stood still for the beloved, slight one . . .
One affectionately known to the Faithful only by his first name. Timmy . . .
One-hundred and forty-eight pitches to achieve Baseball Immortality.
The wide-eyed one diving full, ensnaring that which would have destroyed the magic.
The slight one captured from behind with love from his catcher, jarring him back to blissful reality:
Iconic Image . . .
No-hitter . . .
First career and 15th franchise for the beloved and beleaguered one.
Brightest spot in a lost year. Teammates overjoyed for the slight one,
Surrounding him. Ever-loved, ever-protected.
Time stood still . . .
Always expected; sweeter now after all that had passed.
Wet from the dousing, stunned happiness smoothed
The all-too frequent worry lines; luminous joy shining through.
Brightest spot in a lost year . . .
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