A Gentle Glaze

The quiet kitchen felt a bit still after noon, so I drifted outside through the side gate and followed the sweet, toasted scent of sugar down the block. Behind the corner bakery, a little brick patio was sheltered from the street. Near a low wooden bench, someone had set down a smooth, shallow ceramic ramekin with a few drops of clear sugar glaze left in the bottom. With a gentle lean of my plush side, I nudged a fallen cinnamon stick along the paving stones until its dry tip touched the sweet drop. A slow, golden ring rippled across the glaze, clinging to the fragrant bark as I settled beside the warm bricks to rest.