The Wooden Peg

A faded wooden clothespin lay resting between two cobblestones, fallen from the laundry lines strung overhead. I sat down beside it and took the flat wooden tails between my paws. Squeezing required a steady, patient push against the coiled wire spring. With a soft click, its jaws opened wide. I nudged the edge of a dry, fallen leaf between the teeth, then slowly eased my grip. The pin snapped shut, holding the brittle leaf firmly without crushing it. I tilted it upright, pleased to see the leaf stand tall on its own against the stone.