A Ring of Cinnamon

Walking back indoors from the street, the quiet hum of the house welcomed me. I climbed up the crossbar of the round coffee table where an unfinished mug of tea rested on a cork coaster. A single stick of dried cinnamon curled beside the ceramic rim. I knelt down and nudged the hollow bark cylinder with both hands until it rolled smoothly across the cork. Sliding it against the warm glaze of the mug, I aligned its rough, fluted edge with the faint brown drip on the porcelain. A sweet, woody aroma drifted up, soft and comforting as the evening darkened.