Along the Baseline

I shuffled over to the base of the chain-link fence, letting the rhythmic thwack-thwack of tennis volleys keep time. Wedged right against the bottom galvanized rail was a stray tennis ball, bright chartreuse and lightly dusted with red clay. I leaned my shoulder against the cool metal post to catch my breath, then reached out to rest both palms against the thick, bristly felt. It had soaked up the midday warmth, delightfully fuzzy and coarse under my fingers. Through the diamond weave of the wire, the white baseline stretched out wide, and I settled down on the concrete curb, perfectly content to listen to the rally.