A Rolled Cinnamon Stick

A sweet, woody scent drew me quietly toward the dining corner. Beneath the chair leg, resting on the smooth linoleum, was a tight brown cinnamon stick. I knelt down softly to inspect the curled bark. nudging one end with my front paw, it gave a dry rattle and rolled a few inches into a warm patch of sunlight. The rough outer ridges felt sturdy and warm under my touch. I sat beside it, resting one arm gently across its curved edge, enjoying the cozy fragrance lingering in the quiet afternoon air.