A Crisp Rehearsal

Venturing out to the sunlit garden perimeter, I found a discarded wooden clothespin clamped askew upon a taut wire line. Precision is the cornerstone of great theatre. Reaching upward, I grasped its weathered spring and pressed firmly until the jaws opened with a sharp, resonant snap. I slid it three measured inches to the left, aligning it exactly over a neat knot in the wire, then released. It locked down with impeccable bite. Stepping back along the cedar board, I clasped my hands behind my back, offered a crisp nod, and let the garden stage hold its mark.