Coarse Fibers on the Latch

I followed the flagstone path past the porch steps until I reached the low wooden garden gate. Tied around the dark iron latch was a scrap of rough jute twine, left weathered by the wind. I rested both of my padded hands against the rough timber post and leaned in close to inspect the coarse braid. Unlike the smooth cotton of my pinafore, these fibers were stiff and bristling with tiny golden splinters. I nudged a loose fringe with my thumb, feeling each twisted strand hold its shape against the cold metal. It was a sturdy knot, tied to stay.