She was a hurricane on the diamond. Wild. Hard hitting. Fast. She spoke the language of the ball smacking against the bat.
There was a determined fire in her eyes. A burning passion for the sport. A need for the wind whistling through her hair as a cloud of dust swirled around her sliding to home plate.
Her home was on the diamond, bat in hand. The way her eyes lit up at the cheering crowds in the stands made the sun a dim basement light.
If you ever saw her, staring down the pitcher, you would understand. Her passion was a wild fire, spreading and destroying everything in Ithaca path.
Just a glimpse of her crooked smile after an game and you would know. She was softballs girl.
