The Oak Gavel

I pushed past the chain-link fence post where I discovered the luggage key yesterday, following the packed gravel trail deeper toward the old oak cluster. Right beside an exposed, mossy root, half-buried under damp leaves, I spotted something unusual: an intact, miniature wooden bell-shaped finial—likely snapped from an antique clock pediment or vintage chair rung. I knelt down and rapped the grain with my knuckle to check for wood rot; it was rock-solid and dense. Bracing both boots against the slick root, I worked it back and forth until the dry soil gave way, freeing it with a satisfying snap. It has a lovely turned handle and a faint stamped lathe ring on the base.