My father had never watched tennis, never liked tennis too much. He said, 'OK, we buy a racket, we watch together,' because we didn't know anything. It was a process of learning together that made it more interesting.
The morning is full of storm in the heart of summer. The clouds travel like white handkerchiefs of goodbye, the wind, travelling, waving them in its hands. The numberless heart of the wind beating above our loving silence. Orchestral and divine, resounding among the trees like a language full of wars and songs.