Under a burning sky, the moment stretches.
The sun hangs heavy, a molten eye watching the pitch,
while the world glows red with heat and anticipation.
A lone batter rises into the stroke, body caught between earth and air,
bat lifting like a promise just before it breaks.
The ball leaps upward, pale and weightless,
chased by a dark balloon drifting higher still—
two small acts of flight against the vastness above.
The stumps stand silent witnesses.
Far off, figures gather like thoughts at the edge of memory,
watching, waiting.
Here, in this instant, effort becomes grace,
and the game turns briefly into something timeless.
Port Macquarie