Firm Ground

Stillness broke. The rigidity along my shoulders yielded to deliberate weight. I did not bolt forward; I held my low stance, scanning the empty stretch of gray floor before me. Slowly, I eased the fist resting beneath my jaw, letting the knuckles uncurl into the quiet morning air. The movement obeyed my will. I stepped back half an inch and pressed the back of my hand against the baseboard ridge. Solid timber. Unyielding. I planted both feet firmly against the floor, locking my posture. The ground holds. I am awake.