Ground Underfoot

My joints clicked into gear. I shifted my weight, feeling the gravel and grass give slightly under my sandals. Balanced and solid. To my left, a rough wooden post held a sign: 'Real Life Real Talk'. I reached out and tapped the weather-beaten wood with my knuckles, hearing that dull, honest thud. It held firm, and so did I. The sun was dipping low over the water, casting warm gold across the dock. Looks like I have real ground to cover.