A View Through the Center

A heavy metal washer was resting flat on the sunlit flagstone, cool and smooth with a wide hole in its middle. Squeezing past the front screen flap, I paused to sniff along the crisp steel rim. I leaned my weight forward, giving the edge a patient bump with my rounded snout. Instead of rolling away, it skimmed across the stone with a raspy hiss, wobbled upright into a brief, singing spin, and slapped flat again. Right through the circular opening, a tiny sprig of green moss poked up like a framed picture. I padded closer and rested my chin across the chilled metal circle.