By Marvin Ferguson
before I felt a pair of hands moving on my face, flipping me around until
some fingers rested on my stitches. Then the glove moved, but I couldn't tell
where I was going.
The hand on my face didn't move either until I suddenly felt a cool breeze.
As I was lifted out of that cozy spot inside a glove I traveled over a man's
shoulder toward his back so fast it took me by surprise. Then, as he extended
his arm to its maximum position, suddenly I felt a jerk that brought me back
over that same shoulder leaving his fingers, traveling on my own at ninety
miles per hour.
As I sailed through the air, the breeze increased whipping in my face. All
around me everything looked blurred. In front of me, all I could see was a
faint patch of dark brown that looked like the glove I just left. But I never
got there. For out of nowhere came a piece of wood that sent me into a
different direction, rolling over a green carpet, parting the thick grass like a
boat speeding through the Everglades.
The joys of being a novelist are the challenge to personify things in the real
world. From my book titled "The Boys On The Gold Coast" I had the
opportunity to share life from the view of a baseball. I wish you all some
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