As toes stretch and curl against the cool smoothness, a gentle rhythm emerges. With every stride, the wood yields slightly, yielding to the weight of your body with a comforting resilience. It is a tactile musical score, a whispered sonnet composed by the whispers of ancient trees.
There is warmth in the familiarity of the sensation, a primal connection to the natural world. With each footfall, you take in the simplicity of the act, a respite from the constant rush to reach somewhere rather than just walk.
Time slows, boundaries between self and else blur. The wooden floor becomes not just a surface to walk on but a slate where your movements are etched. The hard joys of foot on wood becomes a ritual in which you sense and feel the ground beneath your feet. It is the primal bliss of safety.
