A forgotten and neglected clothespin hangs on the line, suffering the seasonal barrage of wind, snow, hail, and freezing temperatures...clinging to the memory of warm summer sojourns supporting a pair of cotton briefs, a beach towel, a sock...with hopes of the coming spring thaw and a renewed sense of purpose. Hang in there little clothespin for, alas, winter has only just begun. Maintain your spring-loaded grip on the umbilical cord and do not let slip to the ground your dreams, lest you be raked up in the Spring with the eschewed flotsam of autumn and become added to the compost heap only to rot and decay in anonymity in a leafy grave. Nay, maintain your claw-like grip on the lifeline and you will once again bask in the warm summer breezes that snap the sheets held within your grasp in watercolor memories of youth and mother and the smacking of the screen door as she brings the laundry basket of damp meaning back into your wooden life. Hang in there. It's very cold here.