A Gilded Token

I slipped back out beneath the propped rubber sweep, moving deliberately along the rough stone floor toward the shelter of the clay pot. The outdoor air felt vast and sharp. Between the curved base of the terracotta pot and the damp porch flags, a small collection of windblown grit had accumulated. While scanning the shadowed crevice, a subtle metallic gleam caught my eye. Pausing to listen, I extended two dark mittens into the dust and pulled free a tarnished brass coat button embossed with a three-pronged anchor. Its ridged border felt cold and distinct against my palms. I pressed my back against the clay to turn it over in the afternoon light.