Franklinsanity

1:43 pm, Stephentown, NY:  hard court tennis on a rainy day. What could go wrong?  Rolled ankles. Wasps’ nests. Broken strings?  

Wet balls. 

Less offensively, fantastic to roll off the breakfast table and get on the court. Hearing the pop of balls off the strings, watching it soar onto the other side of the court…or into the trees, as the case may be. Sweating some of the prior night’s booze out, tubing an overhead and narrowly missing your opponent. Good stuff. Not country club tennis. 

If nothing else, the exercise is a superb rationale for hitting the rose at midday. That’s roh-zay, since I can’t be bothered to find the accent feature here in WordPress. 

Whispering Angel, I hear you calling!  

(That is the name of the rose, people. Relax.)