A Silver Ring

I walked down to the bottom wooden step where the garden dirt meets the timber... Down in the narrow groove, something caught a slant of pale midday light. It was a heavy silver metal washer, half-buried in dry grains of sand. I crouched low, waiting... then used both paws to pry it free. When I stood it upright on its flat edge and gave it a soft push, it rolled smoothly along the painted wood... wobbled once... and settled quietly against the riser.