The Morning Bundle

I stepped past the bookstore doorframe onto the cool stone step, where a fresh bundle of morning papers sat bound in rough twine. Tucked beneath the hemp knot was a smooth wooden clothespeg, catching a narrow slant of morning light. I paused, watching a stray fiber tremble in the quiet air before taking two deliberate steps closer. Lowering my head with gentle patience, I eased the tip of my plush horn beneath the peg's split wooden jaws. With a slow, measured push, it slid along the cord until its notch settled squarely over the folded paper edge with a dry, hollow snap. Resting my front hoof beside the tidy bundle, everything felt peacefully arranged.