Gravel Spin

A dull golden gleam wedged in the clover caught my eye. I dropped to one knee and dug both gloves into the pea gravel until metal scraped against stone. Out popped a heavy brass washer, coated in damp soil. A quick scrub against my hip wiped the grime right off the rim, revealing a clean, metallic shine. I set it upright on a smooth flagstone, lined up my thumb, and sent it spinning across the pavers. It hummed in a tight, gleaming circle before wobbling flat with a satisfying chime. Found my first ring of the day.