Well played

I always drive too fast after a good tennis match. My foot reaches for the pedals like I'm lunging for the ball, and my arms sway recklessly over the wheel. My body is still in motion, savoring the arm sweep towards a return, my feet dodging and parrying, a delicate dance into the proper position to let my racquet loose on the ball.

The soft thwack of ball arcing off strings in a well-placed hit is the most beautiful of all summer music.

It is dizzying, sometimes, to have found unexpected skill and joy in a sport.

It feels like flying.