The finest morning

It is so easy to envision myself doing things I haven't done in ages.  I see myself the way I looked forty years ago, tall thin, long hair tied back, dashing across the court, tennis racket in hand.

I lean into some shots, hold my breath for others, I am the supreme critic, oohing and ahhing, wincing and nodding wisely after every play. 

Then reality sets in and I realize that I am only sitting up in the stands watching.  I might be able to hit the ball, but I have no finesse left, no real power.  I am not even a tennis has been.  I was never that good.

But the memories are!

Today I get to relive a bit of that while gazing down on the court on one side of the fence and the gorgeous crepe myrtle trees that flank the river on the other side. 

The people on the court are sweating, panting, playing hard.  I am basking in the breeze and sitting in the shade of Louisiana's finest morning.