When Sparks Fly by Helena Hunting
My current state of mind hovers between fascination and disbelief. I adjust my sunglasses and turn slightly, so the warm summer sun doesn’t shine directly in my eyes. Across the field, half a dozen adult men lead their “horses” to the “feeding” trough. Two men bump into each other as they approach the trough, which is full of fake feed, for their fake horses. As a child I wanted a hobbyhorse. As a very young child. It was a fleeting wish, added to my Christmas list when I was about three years old. Probably because I’d seen one in a movie and thought it looked like fun. But the hobbyhorse wish was quickly replaced by soccer equipment, because soccer became my passion as soon as I could kick a ball.