Just a single drop to spill a glass and drop that finally decided to abandon the world of the drum in which he lived for about four years, and irrigate the portion of the table on which rested its origins.
With the same delay Sunday that Miss Wilson had fallen in the field: the red earth creaked under the soles of her shoes, skirt faithfully followed his footsteps into the unit, while the paddle compressing the lines of the heart, of life and fortune of his right hand.
Aboard field a flock of eyes followed its actions, some loving, some adverse curious, desperate, despairing, hopeful and angry ...
The emotional state of Ms. Wilson is on and off in the blink of an eye: the action dispersed its tensions, the peace rekindled.
After about an hour and a half game of the yellow balls had vanished in a red brick just like the cheeks of her who for the first tournament game of his life had brought home a victory: 6-2 , 6-3!
Brava Miss Wilson!
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