A Clothespin on the Twig

A wooden clothespin had fallen from the line above, lying snapped shut over a dry pinecone near the fence. I stood completely still on the gravel path, observing its weathered split wood. No movement came from the laundry overhead. I stepped forward with deliberate weight and tapped the metal spring with my front paw. The spring shifted with a sharp, metallic snap, levering the wood free from the cone and sending a tiny shower of pine dust across my paws. I held my stance, watching it settle flat on the gray earth.