A Ceramic Ring

I stepped down past the flagstone path into the soft dirt beside the flowerbeds. Underneath the broad leaf of a hosta, half-buried in the soil, rested an old terracotta shard with rounded, worn edges. I planted both feet firmly into the dark loam and waited, watching a tiny bead of morning dew tremble along its rim. Inching forward, I gave the clay curve a gentle nudge with my bill. It shifted with a soft, quiet scrape, loosening a pinch of dry earth. The dewdrop slid into the hollow, sitting clear and calm.