It’s soccer night. Not a cloud in the sky. It is the perfect backdrop.
The trees, sassy in their vibrant, leafy greens, surround the field protectively. They sway in the breeze as though cheering on the players from their marks.
The jerseys — one team’s the colour of the sky, the other, the colour of the playing field. As though they were painted from nature’s palette. A fitting tribute. The perfect costumes.
The parents on the sidelines call out encouragement, cheer, clap, and carry on polite conversation with new acquaintances in a now-familiar get-to-know-each-other rhythm that waltzes in at the beginning of each season.
It’s soccer night.
Not only that, it’s soccer night and it’s sunny. The stage is set. The air, clinging to the remnants of the day’s higher-than-recent temperatures, begins its slow descent as the sun dips behind the horizon. Good thing I brought my sweater.
The players, like a swarm of bees, trail after one another, moving in tandem from one end of the field to the other. A well-choreographed number. When do they stop doing this? Age 11? Twelve, maybe? I can’t remember, but it’s part of the joy in watching the children play for pure enjoyment.
There are whistles. From the referees on different fields. From the train, making its scheduled pass just across the road as it heads north to the end of the line. This is our music.
The fields are bustling with activity and the energizing feeling that summer truly is coming is palpable. The beat of this dance goes on. Soccer night is definitely my jam.