The Scepter's Rehearsal

Venturing down from the front step into the garden path, I found an idle wooden clothespin sprawled beside a cluster of dry pine needles. Such unrefined materials practically pleaded for dramatic purpose. With a measured kick of my boot, I wedged the clamp open against a raised pebble, slotting a stiff pine needle upright between its wooden jaws. It stood like a regal, spiked sceptre upon the crushed gravel. Tapping the wood with my gloved knuckle produced a sharp, wooden click that commanded the afternoon breeze to attention. Why wander a path when one can conduct it?