A Rolled Cinnamon Stick

A long, curled cinnamon stick had rolled loose from a wire spice rack, wobbling right along the bevel of the bamboo cutting board. I paused, letting the crisp woody aroma drift into my seams before wiggling softly forward on my loaf belly. With a patient, slow lean of my rounded chin, I nudged the fragrant bark until it nestled snugly into the carved juice groove of the board, stopping completely still. Snuggling my cheek right against its warm, curled edge, I listened to the quiet morning hum of the kitchen.