I noticed an overturned brass screw eye caught among the moist potting pebbles right beneath the olive sapling! Its little round belly caught the morning beam, looking just like an ancient ring awaiting its stone. Planting my wooden staff with an assertive rap against the terracotta lip—*tink*—I knelt down to claim it. Nearby hung a plump drop of morning condensation beneath a glossy leaf. Steadying my breath, I scooped the cold bead cleanly onto the flat wooden tip of my staff and hovered it right over the screw's loop. *Plink!* The water settled into the brass ring like a quivering crystal lens, reflecting the whole bright sky!