One day a mother found her young son twisting a piece of grass into a loop. “It’s a ring!” he said. “For my wife. Someday.” He frowned, trying to get the loop to stay.
As the boy grew into a young man he continued to make rings. It was something to do when his hands were idle; he made them from wood, twine, paper, or whatever else was handy. Any time someone asked what he was doing, he absently replied that he was making a ring for his wife, then gave it to them, saying, “I’ll make another, better one, for her.”
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