Introduction
Beneath a sunset brushing the edge of the cornfield, one can’t shake the feeling that something has been waiting — patiently, for a very long time. As if the moment you dare to step forward, to believe, the dream will light itself. It begins with a whisper threaded between wind and memory: “If you build it, he will come. He’ll take care of business.” A man who thought he’d long left his childhood behind now hears, in the rustle of corn, not just the wind — but a dream refusing to die.
He remembers his father once standing motionless before the fields, as if listening to a baseball game only he could hear. Back then, he didn’t understand. But now — he sees it clearer than ever: a diamond in the middle of the corn, waiting to be born. And when his daughter softly says, “Maybe the dream was waiting on you,” — there is no turning back.
Then the impossible happens. A man walks out from the rows of corn, quiet as a story unbound by time. “This place feels like a dream that forgot to end.” And there is no need for questions or explanations — the sound of ball against glove becomes the heartbeat of something awakening. The night no longer counts in minutes — but in wonder.
Souls who once lived for the game begin to find the light again. People say the crowd will come. Not for the score — but for the memory. For the promise no ticket can ever print. “Deep in the worn blue suede of every dreamer, they still remember. They remember the King — the swing of the hips, the curl of that lip. They come to feel, if only for a moment, that everything’s going to be all right.”
And at last — the truest thing happens not before an audience, but between only two. A son stands before his father, voice trembling —
“Dad… would you like to have a catch?”
“It’s been too long, son. I’d like that.”
Where the corn meets the sky, dreams never die.
They simply wait — for someone brave enough to believe… and come home.