It's silver. A strip of mahogany has been enameled into the smooth metal and within the wood are three small indentations. One containing a fragment of amber, the second a piece of polished stone and the third looks to be black rock. I pull it from it's casing within the little black presentation box and I run my thumb over the ridges in it. The ring is fascinating but I am more intrigued by the small note that accompanies it.
Ivo, the amber is from a fossil that contains some weird type of anthropomorphic bee that I'm guessing is quite old now and quite pissed at still being trapped in some amber. The stone is a small piece of the pebble I found in your office that I recognise from my beach and the rock is a piece of basaltic remains from Mt. Vesuvius. Morbid, I know. I hope you like it, love always, your Tim.
I try to fit the ring on my middle finger and then laugh to myself. Of course. It fits perfectly onto my ring finger on my left hand as I suspected it would. There haven't been many times in my life when I have felt cherished, but I do now. Oh Tim.