The Wooden Ring

A smooth wooden napkin ring was lying on its curved side across the dining table. I shuffled forward and nudged my base firmly against its rim. It took off in a slow, gliding roll, humming softly over the polished wood. It bumped the stitched hem of a woven placemat, wobbled in a small circle, and tipped onto its flat circular edge, standing upright like a miniature doorway. I nudged forward step by slow step until I reached it. Peering right through the hollow center, I could see the wood grain framed inside. I rested gently against the curved side, satisfied with where it stopped.