Shouldn't…but Do

The bleachers in the ballpark are old.  Too far from field #4 and installed so eye height is equal to the ballpark fence – inconvenient.

Faded grey paint peels in postage-stamp size pieces from metal supports.  A nod to  Mr. Neil Young, rust never sleeps.

But rust, like everything else in this ballpark, is part of a rich picture.  Summertime nostalgia.  Rust supports the tradition it eats.

At some other time in  life, I might have thought the deterioration a shame.  But change is as constant as tradition and this rust, altering the structure of the place from the inside out while maintaining its congruency,  is beautiful.