Monday, April 26
The tennis court, 8:42
I go for a walk listening to the music of Evan Greer, which I continue to find uplifting in its outlook and optimism.
As I return I walk past the tennis court, which workman dismantled last week. I go over and take a photograph of the complete lack of tennis court. I rarely get a chance to photograph an actual absence.
The tennis court has existed since we moved here. In the summer we both used to like the thwock of balls going back and forth over the net. We even joined the club for two summers.
Apparently, though, the club ran out of members, and the original organisers who had moved here in the eighties to build their own houses failed to find people to take over from them. The court had fallen into disrepair and the city judged that the fencing had become a danger for the animals who live in the woods.
Down it came. Irma phoned to find out the plan for the empty space and the plan involves letting the space rewild itself.
Nobody will do anything: just as they should.