Tagged: Robert Louis Stevenson

Back in the ‘kron.

Well, it is time once again for an update on all the happenings since I last posted.  It has been an extremely hectic week.  Thursday I had to show up at the park early to put some of my luggage on the truck to Ohio then wait half the day to get on a plane for the flight to L.A. for an exhibition game against the Dodgers.  The experience of being in uniform in Dodger Stadium was cool, but I didn’t pitch and it did end up being a very long and tiring day, not that I’m complaining.  Friday I backed up again and actually threw a couple scoreless innings against the Reds.  Saturday was a quick day at the park, but between making dinner for my dad and my fiance’s family and packing up to break camp at 4am Sunday morning things were pretty frantic.  Since then the days have mostly been a blur of sleep, workouts at the field, apartment hunting and all the little things that need to get taken care of at the beginning of a new season.  Unfortunately, I will be starting this season off in the same place that I ended last season: Akron.  Organizations all have to make their decisions on players every year and they certainly have their reasons, but it is pretty frustrating to be back after what was a good year last year.  That being said, all that there is to be done is to keep working hard, performing well and hoping against hope for a promotion.  The irony of week as scattered and frantic as this past one is that there really isn’t a whole lot worth writing about, so I’ll make this one a short one and get you out of here with a poem (it is National Poetry month so I have a temporary excuse).



by Robert Louis Stevenson


Late lies the wintry sun a-bed,  

A frosty, fiery sleepy-head;  

Blinks but an hour or two; and then,  

A blood-red orange, sets again.  


Before the stars have left the skies,

At morning in the dark I rise;  

And shivering in my nakedness,  

By the cold candle, bathe and dress.  


Close by the jolly fire I sit  

To warm my frozen bones a bit;

Or with a reindeer-sled, explore  

The colder countries round the door.  


When to go out, my nurse doth wrap  

Me in my comforter and cap;  

The cold wind burns my face, and blows

Its frosty pepper up my nose.  


Black are my steps on silver sod;  

Thick blows my frosty breath abroad;  

And tree and house, and hill and lake,  

Are frosted like a wedding-cake.