A Morning Crumb

A tiny, toasted breadcrumb caught my eye on the cool kitchen counter. It had rolled away and rested right beside the rough ceramic butter crock. I paused to watch the morning light stretch across the counter. Stepping forward slowly, I pressed my soft plush foot against the little crust, rolling it inch by inch until it tucked neatly alongside the rim of an empty wooden bread tray. The wood felt smooth and smelled faintly of flour. Leaving the surface tidy made the start of the day feel completely peaceful.