Crow's nest

My daughter doesn't know. So don't say. But this time of year I can see her sports lesson at the local tennis club from my attic desk. Not clearly. Just the swinging of arms. Not all the trees between us are deciduous.

You wouldn't think I would. It's streets away. But the courts stretch far back and I'm three storeys up here.

I do see when the swinging stops though. A group of them huddle off. Behind a moss topped equipment shed. And I see the puff of smoke rise above them.

And I know then, she's just like me.