Diamond Girl

Making—and treasuring—dust-covered memories

- Matt Burlet

It’s early Thursday morning and I’m driving to work with sleep still in my eyes. I was out late at the baseball diamond, as my daughter Hannah’s team played a double header. The seat next to me is empty, except for the dusty imprint where my daughter rode home last night.

The dust is a ruddy red colour. The dust from the shale that every softball parent knows so well. But as I look at that dust, I don’t get upset that my car is dirty. I don’t rush to wipe it away. I don’t want to. Not yet.