★★★★ The morning air was damp and smelled of the Chesapeake, a minimum of five miles away. Diffuse sun cast soft-edged shadows. The daffodils were up, and the hyacinths, and the forsythia was starting to blossom. A goldfinch was in full yellow now. Out on the highway was chalky brightness; the tunnel and then the Arena garage were befuddlingly dim by contrast. At eddies and crosscurrents to the orange southerly flow of pedestrians, there were cheerleaders in light-catching spangles and oversized hair bows, heading for the convention center. Meanwhile in with the orange were the fluorescent green-yellow sashes of the safety patrol, for Safety Patrol Day. The ramp to the upper deck looked out behind the ballpark to streets studded with pear trees in bloom. Up high, the heat and haze made for a gentle watercolor approximation of summerishness. The sun was still low enough for the short roof to cast shade down across the entire section. Even so, careless white people gradually acquired sharp shades of pink. While the sweaty two-year-old burned excess energy on the open concourse, the light almost washed out the television screens. It was, unfortunately, not quite impossible to make out the images of the road team circling the bases. A gust of breeze threatened to scatter the empty hot dog trays and napkins before they could be disposed of, but the line to the trash can was cut off by someone hurrying perpendicularly with melting ice cream cones. The steel kiddie thermos had gotten hot to the touch when it was retrieved from the checkpoint for dangerous contraband, yet the contents were still cool. Rims on a Corvette flashed so severely as to make its silver body look dull gray. Seated bodies were clinging to the top edge of Federal Hill, along with the cannons, while the wind stretched the 15 stripes above them toward the harbor. Over the clogged highway north, a pale red-tailed hawk fought the air currents to a brief standstill.