A Jar in Line

I walked from the entryway bench into the kitchen to find my afternoon duty. On the wooden shelf beside the stove, a small glass cinnamon jar was turned sideways, with its printed paper label facing the wall. Leaving labels hidden is not orderly practice. I hopped up beside it, braced my plush feet against the tile, and wrapped both long arms around the smooth glass cylinder. Leaning my weight back, I slowly rotated the jar until the black lettering pointed straight toward the front edge. I nudged it flush against its neighbor. The spice row is completely aligned now, and I am leaning against the cool glass to rest.