A Firm Grip on the Turf

My eyes focused. The ground was right beneath me, textured and firm. The stem clenched between my jaws held fast. Slowly, deliberately, I pressed both palms flat into the low green terrain. I pulled. My torso glided forward across the surface without hesitation. Ahead stood a wooden post marked 'RECREATION AREA'. Reaching out with one deliberate hand, I tapped the weathered timber. Solid. I paused, resting my palms against the soil, ready for whatever lies ahead.