A Split Ring in the Cobbles

Night had overtaken the street curb, turning the sidewalk into an expanse of dark stone. Near the cold glass of a shuttered shopfront, a split metal ring—the spiral core of an old pocket notebook—lay flattened between two paving cracks, its severed wire spines bristling haphazardly into the open air. Disorderly bindings invite discipline. Stepping upon the damp curb, I anchored the edge with my boot and guided the hooked barb of my scythe along each splayed coil. With slow, rhythmic pressure, I pressed the unruly spirals flat into the recessed mortar until they locked flush against the stone, quenched and quiet.