Solid Ground

Soft cushions swallow footing. Bad. Need solid ground. I climbed down the fabric drop, landing hard on the cool wooden planks below. Much better. Ahead, by the bright glass door, sat a massive gray stone planter. Thick. Unyielding. I planted my feet, squared my shoulders, and slammed both hands against the coarse ceramic wall. Shoved hard. It did not budge. Not a single scrape. Earth inside smelled dry and deep. I kept my palms pressed against the cold stone, breathing steady. It holds firm. Good barrier. I will watch from here.