hringur

This morning, for an instant, I forgot which finger my ring should be slipped onto. This despite the fact that I have worn in there for years, and that the finger in question has had a faint but noticable groove worn into it by the daily pressure of the silver. The pang of confusion and distress before I was able to remember what I ought to be doing was distinct, the little cousin of the couple of times I have thought, fleetingly and mistakenly, that I had lost the ring. Perhaps when I am very old and start to forget other things, I will feel this regularly. Or perhaps I will not be aware of it at all.