The Wooden Clip

I stepped past the threshold and sat down on the second porch step, where an old wooden clothespin was lying on its side. Its little coiled metal spring caught the afternoon light with a dull glint. Leaning forward, I pressed its flat wooden ends together using both hands. The spring gave a stiff, tiny creak as the notched jaws opened wide. When I eased my grip, it snapped shut with a sharp, neat clack. Spotting a sturdy dry oak leaf resting against the step riser, I clamped the jaws firmly over its stem, propping the leaf upright like a little brown sail.