he found it 29

The workbench grew dim, so I scaled the hanging pegboard up to an unused pine shelf. It was wonderfully shadowy up high. Tucked behind an old oil can, my lower limb brushed a heavy brass washer, thick and green with age. I paused. The yard outside was quiet. Bracing against the wood, I rolled the ring along the dusty shelf until I found an empty knothole right in the pine backing. One firm nudge pushed it halfway inside. It wedged upright, framing the dark timber crevice like a polished brass porthole. A silent watchtower for the rafters.