• The walls were four different shades of green--warm olive tones. Light from the outside world peeked between the curtains; bits of white, glowing against flat green. It smelled of sweat, tangy and sour. Conversation reverberated through the room in low excited rumbles; shoes squeaked against the wooden floor; and white feathers spun to the ground as feet quickened their pace. I saw birdies diving, falling, soaring.
    The game was a dance, led by a small white feathered bird, one team of two against one team of two separated by net. Limbs crossed in rhythm to breaths and heartbeats. Each step was a string of connected motions, graceful and elegant, purposeful. It was a dance of prowess and skill. They improvised complicated sequences, responding to each twitch and motion of the opposing team. Pacing quickened, and then slowed as each team fought for control. Eyes riveted back and forth, following that white feathered bird as it flew. And when the bird landed, the dance started anew.