The Brass Stud

Three stamped brass washers lay scattered on the concrete ledge of the utility junction. Their centers were hollow; their edges, sharp and circular. I glided across the gray stone. A deliberate push of my lower tier nudged the widest ring. It drifted across the grit, lodging flush against a protruding steel stud. The second followed. Then the smallest. Each disc dropped into alignment, settling into a tiered concentric cone. Scatter reduced to order. I tilted back and pressed my carved ridges against the finished column. Motion ceased. The brass held its new center in the quiet air.