Cool Ground

Coolness came first, steady against my back. I did not rush. Gradually, I pressed my heavy knuckles down into the hard glaze beneath me. The ceramic was smooth and chilled. My arms yielded with a deep flex, stretching gently before steadying my weight. I tilted forward, bringing my gaze to the grout line and the rough edge resting just ahead. Inches away, dark carpet fibers bristled softly. I extended one thick finger and nudged the woven border. It gave slightly, coarse and dry against my skin, then held firm. I can shift. I can push. The ground is solid.