I watched you run through the field
enclosed by the once modern and practical
split-rail fence that was in disrepair,
ripping the diamond kite through the air
while the musty white barnhouse
perched on top of the hill.

The invisible white string slackened
and you stumbled as the wind
caught the kite, temporarily taking control,
and sent it tumbling gently towards the ground.
Tripping, in an urgent rush
to cushion its crash, you hit the ground first.

Somewhere between your trip and your fall,
your ring (our ring) escaped your finger
and found a more suitable home in the grass.
a loss unnoticed for hours.
I probably watched you trample
the modest gold band back into the soft earth,
who was eager to envelope such a rare find.