A Relic on the Cobblestones

The stone steps leading down into the alley were still cool from dawn. Carrying my grey companion securely against my chest, I paused at the lower landing beneath the whitewashed archway. Lodged between two worn cobblestones lay an old brass button, its stamped crest dulled by years of street dust. I knelt with deliberate calm, working the stubborn metal free from the mortar with steady fingers. It held the quiet weight of honest craft. Respecting what the pavement had preserved, I set the button upright upon the low stone plinth beside an aged timber door. A town remains dignified when small things receive their due.