It sits there. Staring. Luminous in its
yellowness. Accusatory in feel. A recrimination for what’s not being done.
What is it? A lone tennis ball.
After our trip to the physiotherapy we
ended up having to go along to a sports shop to buy a tennis ball. Now the Fox
has to practice leaning against a wall, pressing the ball gently into his
hip/upper leg area. It’s supposed to unknot muscles that are overworking to
compensate for the ones that have gone on strike.
Buying tennis balls at our age, in our
state of health, is about the last thing we expected, but still if it helps.
No comments:
Post a Comment