I am the man who throws back the ball from my garden where it has landed. I smile each time and awkwardly loop it over the fence onto the grass next door where the boy plays with his dad.
Once I was the boy who kicked the ball into next door’s garden and cheerfully asked “Can we have our ball back mister?” to some ancient soul, who had never kicked a ball himself.
He would throw back the ball awkwardly and sort of smile.
But now I am that man and the summer goes by.