[ WP ] Exercising Your Subtext Skills

It ’ s the warm, muggy air of summer. Gnats, moths, and thumbnail-sized bugs are hovering around the field lights that surround the ballpark. It ’ s finally dark, although you can see the stars and the outlines of purple-black clouds in the sky. 
 
 The field is still, the green-yellow grasses standing at attention in the outfield. The air is still. A few dandelions have sprung up from the ground. The ladybugs are out again, crawling and feeling their way around each stalk of grass, flitting from one blade to another. Crickets are chirping. The grasshoppers have buried themselves in the brown-red infield dirt. The white, painted lines are scuffed and tossed among the unsettled dirt. The powdery dirt is upturned along the baselines. Three square holes now show the marking-spots for first, second, and third base. The rubber on the pitcher ’ s mound is scuffed by the scraping of metal and caked with a light coating of dirt. Home plate is also covered with the sheen of dirt, wiped away a few times, and covered again. A small crater has been dug into each batter ’ s box. 
 
 The dugouts on both sides of the field are open. The chain-link fences rattle when you press your hands against them. Although some weeds have found their home at the foot of the dugouts, the concrete floors are free of litter except for one Gatorade bottle cap and a Skittles wrapper. The benches shine in the light of the field; the aluminum is still warm. Outside one of the dugouts in the grass is a puddle of water. Almost all of the remaining ice cubes have melted. 
 
 In the distance, the snack bar is closed. The small brick building has its windows drawn up. The trash cans are empty, and a paper snow cone holder is lying underneath one of them. A raffle ticket is wedged in the door of the boys ’ bathroom. The doors are freshly painted. You could smell the odor of fresh paint waft outward in the summer air. 

