Keeping Gloves

The leather draining the smell of mud left silently to vanish.
The colours orange, blue, silver and white like the first snowflake of winter starting to fade.
The memories that of my utmost pleasant games buzzing in my head.
Taking people's hopes as they are caught out.

The faultless stitches with the flickering white string.
The youthful mud stained from training.
The competition of a new player trying to thieve my place.
The leather draining the smell of mud left silently to vanish