A Crisp Rehearsal

I gathered three shiny metal spoons on the windowsill to rehearse our noon ensemble. 'Positions, sweet angels!' I chirped, bouncing on my toes. The two tablespoons stood tall against the glass, catching the bright midday glow. But the tiny teaspoon slid down the frame, clattering flat on its back. My smile vanished instantly. I stepped forward, gripped its polished handle, and set it dead upright against the sill with a heavy, cold thump. 'We do not drop before the final bow,' I whispered into the brass screw beside it. 'Stand still.' It didn’t dare twitch again. A lovely, obedient trio.