A Ceramic Ring in the Drizzle

A cool sprinkle tapped the glass above as I stepped toward the dry edge of the covered porch. Sheltered right beside the stone boot-scraper, an unglazed ceramic bead from an old wind chime lay nestled in the floor groove. I grounded all four of my stout legs firmly against the textured flagstone to test its weight. With a slow, deliberate nudge of my snout, I rolled the earthy cylinder forward. It turned with a dry, hollow scrape, coming to rest right where a single stray raindrop dotted the stone, darkening the pale clay edge. Anchoring my weight low, I let out a calm, steady hum.