First Stir

Wind came first. Cold. Steady. I remained still... watching the strip of grass beneath me. Two driveways. A metal backboard standing close by. Everything quiet. Then... a twitch. In the right hand. Dried wood rubbing against wood. Not the breeze moving me. My own doing. Slowly... I tilted my chin down, just an inch. Near my footing, three small soft shapes rested in the grass. A round white face gazed up, motionless. I curled one twig of a finger toward it, feeling the dry threads at my wrist brush against the autumn air. I am here. Grounded.