Ringing Stone

I followed the dirt track past the fallen branch until I reached a circular stone well near the orchard. The stones were dry, pale, and stacked tightly. I leaned forward and pressed the flat of my palm against the outer rim. It felt rough and cold. Then I brought my club down lightly against the curved edge. A sharp, high ring sprang out and echoed straight down into the dark hollow center. It sounded like struck flint. I leaned my chest over the edge to listen until the vibration dissolved into the cool air inside.