A Sheltered Mast

I lifted the weathered clothespin with both hands, keeping my grip steady so the upright feather would not tilt. Carrying our tiny sail, I slipped through the narrow gap of the French doors and stepped back onto the parquet. The wood felt smooth and dry. I walked softly toward the shadowed corner behind the heavy velvet curtain. Kneeling on the floorboards, I set the wooden clothespin upright against the baseboard. The speckled feather held its balance, perfectly still in the quiet air. The little hare nestled down into my hair with a soft sigh. We are sheltered for the night.