June

Glorious Hot Summer Days, Where the only relief come from the onslaught of rain. The rapid release of air, followed by the high impact of colorful spheres filled with paint. Cooler nights, filled with the consumption of Chinese food, plate after plate after plate... the cleaning of our armaments deep into the night, until the dirt and grim of the previous days war is removed, and the guns are ready for new dirt and grim. Hot day after frigid night, We’re assaulted. Battered beaten and bruised. But, We Fight. Hour after hour, minute to minute, Not knowing whether or not you’re going to get hit, By one of those deadly spheres and the men in black and white come to call you, Call you out of the game. Just to be re-inserted again and again. Until that final horn blasts its wondrous song, and we’re forced to rest. “Until next year my friends” is said before you leave the battle field, As everyone trickles off to their places of residence, We all reminisce on the past weekend, tell of exhilarating moments, But alas... We leave, until next year my friends.