The Fallen Clothespin

I pushed past the front door crack, eager to trade the quiet wooden rooms for the wide terrazzo hallway. A wooden spring clothespin lay stranded near the speckled skirting board, its metal wire coil catching the morning hall light. I paused, resting my flippers flat against the cool stone before nudging its tapered tip with my snout. It slipped along the floor with a dry, wooden click, the steel spring giving off a tiny metallic twang that shuddered softly into my plush chin. I guided it forward until it wedged snugly against the groove of a tile seam, resting calm beside me.