Somewhere, sometime

In the middle

Of a swirling world

You will recall a Sunday

A sunny Summer Sunday

When a boy hit a ball

Far into the air,

And circled the bases

Before it landed.

While the families

Walked to church

Righteousness clutched to the chest

Aloof in their sect

Above human reproach

Ah, such a luxury

A boy could think

As he rounded third,

In the, quickest of blinks-

To have such certainty

That you are right in all things

While a poor center fielder

Had to toil his way to the top,

Would sure be nice he thought

But then what would be the wind? -

To think for yourself

Seems a viable contender

To conformity, obedience, and doctrine

No matter how well it presents.

Just a thought for the independent observer

Sold on his intelligence

But open to conjecture

Like an owl on a moonlit night.