The Golden Straw Bale

I walked down the sidewalk until I reached the neighbor's brick walkway, where a compact decorative hay bale was resting right beside a pot of purple chrysanthemums. Setting my pumpkin bucket safely onto the grass by its velvet handle, I pressed both hands against the bound bundle. The compressed golden straw felt delightfully prickly and sturdy beneath my palms, smelling pleasantly like dry autumn grass. Tucked along the rustic twine wrap, a single smooth straw stalk was sticking straight out. I gave it a gentle tug with two fingers until it slid free, admiring its clean hollow shape before tucking it upright into my bucket.