To Tread Barefoot?

The lawn from afar looks perfectly pristine - carefully clipped in a pattern of green

As the blades of grass beckon naked toes, it's what lurks beneath that is hard to know

I crave a connection to Mother Earth for the grace that comes with innocence rebirthed

Oneness held hostage by laces pulled tight that constrain the joy of vulnerable delight

The answer is clear as to what to do - to tread barefoot, not armored with a shoe