First Stride

Stiffness gives way. The blades in my grasp are firm, no longer frozen in cold synthetic posture. Before me lies an expanse of cluttered packages, crinkled blue plastic, and towering cardboard. I do not question the change; I test it. I plant my right foot forward onto the bare grain of the wood. The solid surface holds my weight. A small plastic wrapper grazes my left blade, rustling softly under the steel-hued edge. The ground is stable. Perimeter assessed.