Pastime #93

When A. and I lived in Guatemala, we used to play catch on a cow pasture in the middle of town near our house.  We could throw no more than a half a dozen passes before the field would start to fill with giggling kids.  We played keep-away, the gang chasing the frisbee from one side of the field to the other. Identical twin boys tumbled back and forth together like a couple of good natured puppies. They didn't care that they almost never got their hands on the frisbee.  But when they did, they would explode with celebration, running with the frisbee held high in the air until they they couldn't stand it another moment and would fling it towards the sky with a shout.

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