General

That golden orb did fly, that tennis ball I had kept so safe at my bedside all these years. Yet it was born for the match, for the action and the making of new memories upon the court.

General

The tennis ball was so soft and light in her palm, the golden felt, the curvy white stripes. There was something about it that was in her soul, perhaps the chance to play and win - condensed into one sweet moment.

General

The tennis ball in its own way was their umpire, for honest eyes can always see when fair play is within the boundaries of the court. And those who yell and scream in toddler-esque ways, may hold the ball, or direct it's path, yet they are far from mastery of what real sport aims to teach.

General

That tennis ball was her be-all, her one thing that could drive her onwards in this life, this blessed reality. And when the match had balanced her soul she was a perfect ten in the eyes of all - because she was so very kind. Some folks need sports that way, it lets loose the best parts of them, brings their heroic self to the fore.