Finding My Stance

Silence. Then, a pulse. I felt the solid grain beneath my boots. My right arm hung static, but with focused intent, I flexed my wrist. Tension broke into control. Standing before the stacked volumes labeled 'down to earth' and 'SCANDIRUSTIC', I shifted forward and pressed my taped right knuckles against the rigid spine of the top book. Solid. Responsive. I am no longer just standing—I am grounded, ready, and alive.