Through the Tall Grass

Slipping through the cracked glass door, my boots landed right on the damp grass of the courtyard. The green blades stood as tall as my shoulders, thick and springy. I didn't hesitate; I pushed straight through the tangle, parting the wet stalks with both arms. Cold morning dew splashed against my chest and legs. In the middle of the patch lay a cracked pinecone twice my size, half-buried in dark soil. I stepped up, planted my foot on its woody scales, and hauled myself onto the crown. Standing out in the open breeze feels completely different from looking through glass.