It was like looking for a needle in a haystack — an impossible task.
To hold onto the hope of finding Bill’s missing wedding ring was grasping at straws.
Even thinking about touching the muddy trampled hay where the cows mingle made the idea of purchasing a new wedding ring almost palatable.
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Still, Bill would rather hang onto our money — and hope.
“I keep thinking," my groom said the other day as he pointed at the haystack, “that the ring actually may have landed over this way.”
“When pigs fly!” I thought as I considered the chances of finding it somewhere in the dirt or among the tufts of pasture grass and weeds.
“Every morning I go through the same routine,” Bill continued, “and then when I take off my gloves, the ring could have landed outside the corral fence.”
This new perspective certainly was fodder for thought, and he mulled it over.
Meanwhile, I looked up into the clouds for signs of winged hogs.
“It’s been more than a week since you lost it,” I grouched as we started on our evening walk. “I’ve given up hope.”
But not Bill.
At sunup, while curious cows looked on from behind their barbed wire, Bill got down on his hands and knees to explore. Slowly, he inched through the terrain akin to an early bird on a quest.
And that’s when a beam of light caught his eye.
There, wedged vertically between blades of grass, the gold band gleamed. Within moments it was back on his finger as he waved his hand for me to see.
Without a doubt, hope and determination had come full circle.
Better yet, the thought of him not wearing his wedding band had stopped needling me.