The Cold Green Blades

I walked past the stone edge and stopped right where the wooden planks ended. In front of me lay a thick patch of fresh lawn. I waited quietly, watching tiny drops of moisture cling to each tall blade. When the morning felt completely still, I lifted one hoof and pressed into the green clump. It did not crack like the leaf, and it was not stiff like the stone. The cool grass bent softly under my weight, brushing against my lower leg before springing gently back. A single water droplet slid down and disappeared into the soil. I kept my foot there, resting in the cool damp.