Phone ThrowerSometimes, the racquetball games lack balance. Today, we found ourselves brilliantly adept and spinning up the ball. The rackets pass against the ball with terrific force, and the ball takes new gyre. We were managing to deform the thing from spin as it flew. This is useful: the ball takes unexpected bounces off of walls. This is less useful, as we were utterly inept at judging the spin today, and we were sending returns all over the damn place.
Eventually I got clonked in the temple. No great harm done: it's only a racquetball, after all. Getting thumped in the head is never pleasant, but I am fine. We've got a rule: when someone gets tagged, we stop: we're supposed to be having fun in there (we do, we do!) and it doesn't do to worry.
The food from the farm has shifted: there is less lettuce now, an explosion of tomatoes, and the round green rind of a sugary melon sits on a shelf in the fridge. There will be potatoes, soon, to go with the cabbages.
Far in the night, klaxons of volunteer fire companies chant urgency, then fall quiet to yield to the insects and wind.
All content under copyright by the author. Dancing is permitted. The strange deltic glyphs in the sand under tidal flow are a pleasure to watch in their deepening. Offer not valid in Kansas. We put it down and then we lost it. It all happens in the corner of the eye. Commentary accepted at pen@goob.com, although the traps are agressive and the pointy bits simply drip with dark liquour. We have a dog, but we do not own it. Thank you.