True Center

A smooth bamboo chopstick rested across the weathered picnic table in the park. Straight, dry, and unwarped, it measured twice my height—a proper staff. I stepped onto the cedar plank and lowered my center into a firm horse stance. Bracing the slender timber across my open paw, I slid my grip inch by inch until both ends floated level in the morning air. True center found. I shifted weight to my back heel and pivoted through a three-beat sequence: a low sweeping guard, a rising block, and a direct thrust. The bamboo cleaved the air with a crisp, hollow whistle. When the drill settled, I rested the rod flush against the bench grain.