The hay bales of my childhood were square, ragged and prickly - like dried out Shreddies blocks. I love these new bales, with their smooth lines and smug roundness. We have been told stories, though, by the locals about how they are prone (as we are on the side of a mountain) to roll down from the upper meadows of their own volition. And woe betide any human or cow in their way. Square or round, they still have that heady scent that immediately sends me back to a childhood spent in horse barns and sun-baked barns.
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