Angle on the Edge

A fallen wooden clothespin blocked my path along the baseboard. I stepped squarely onto its tapering slope. The spring groaned under my heel. My torso tilted sharply right, but I locked both hips on instinct, letting the pivot settle before repositioning. With a quick snap of the wrist, I wedged the flat of my blade under the metal coil and levered down. Click. The wooden halves snapped shut in reverse, flipping neatly over. Level ground restored. Clean footing again.