Sweaty Symphony

Sweaty Symphony
         Sweat dances down my forehead, determined to join the music, despite my incessant attempts to silence its part.  My chest rhythmically crests, then troughs as the waves of air enter and exit my lungs, while my heart metrically strikes a driving beat in my ears, creating a melody of insistence.  In complete harmony, my legs conduct the tempo as my feet pound a cadence against the court.  My eyes follow the lines, anticipating their entrance, and my hands lightly strum against the grip of the racquet, gradually approaching a crescendo.  The opponent strikes a chord; my ears record its sound and cue my mind to join the sweaty symphony of competition. 
         “Deuce,” sings my opponent in an alto trembling with exhaustion.  Her hand moves to conduct the ball, and her eyes foresee the end of their rest.  In a fluid glissando, her racquet strikes the ball, and my ears listen for the change in tempo.  Noting the key change, my eyes follow the ball as it pounds against the lines of the court, the first arpeggio in this new progression of sound.  My mind cues my feet to answer in a staccato march, and my legs follow in one accord.  In an emotional down-beat stroke, my shoulder, elbow, wrist, hand, and racquet ring a melodious tone.  The ball soars in a fermata of sound, yet cracks outside the range of melody.  The music ceases. But the sweat continues to dance, my chest crests and troughs, and my heart strikes a driving beat, refusing to conclude without an encore.  My thoughts race through a scale, in time with the rhythm of my heart.
              The match ends, and my opponent’s heart sings with the sweet song of victory.  Her eyes close, savoring the explosion of her triumphant tune.  My head falls in a decrescendo of morose tones, and for a moment my song fades.  Neither dancing sweat nor waves of breath penetrate the silence. And then I hear it--my heart metrically striking a driving beat in my ears, creating a melody of persistence. The symphony continues.