He acted like he had found gold, though it was just an old skidder wheel-rim.
“Whatever for?” she asked.
“For you”, he said. “I got you a ring.”
He set it in the clearing behind the house. He gathered wood. He brought seats. And they along with friends and family often ended up there, speaking easily around the crackling fire, into the night, gazing into the flames in communion, staring in their own silent reveries.
In daytime, empty and cold, it looked like what it was, an old rusty rim. But it was gold. She loved her fire ring.