I dreamed of a ring.
It was a very coppery rose gold, strong, but made of many parts; like little sections of tube, the edges curled like scales. They interlocked and overlapped like them as well. I could not see how they were joined.
It could be laid flat, but when the two open ends were joined together (I could see no clasp - it felt like magnets) the scaled exterior seemed so smooth as to be without joins, as if it were struck of a single piece.
In that smooth surface were delicate etchings: a sliver, a crescent, a half, a three quarter, and a full moon at the apex, then the same down the other side in reverse, waxing and waning.
I wanted the ring, but it was not mine, and I gave it back to the person who had lost it. I had the sense, though, that it could have been mine, if only I had done a little more to be worthy of it.
And now I am awake, and my thoughts are full of that ring, and the idea of inherent versus earned worth or value, and ambergris on a beach.