You know the sound—the clang as the ball bounces off the rust-colored hoop.The backboard, faded with use, trembles.You feel it vibrate.On the rebound, you throw again.In your mind, the ball soars through the hoop;a satisfying swish.Instead, the ball ricochets, landing in the mud; it splatters.When you pick it up, the ball is caked with mud.You sigh, and turn to head back.In the distance, there is a rumble of thunderAnd yet…the muddy ball flies,flecks of dirt trailing in its wake.You watch as the ball’s path forms a perfect arc;your heart leaps.Once again, you think of the ball soaring through the air,and passing through the hoop.This time, you hear it swish.