The Rolling Cinnamon Bark

I waddled back inside from the potting bench and paused on the cool kitchen floor tiles. Tucked near the base of the wire spice rack, a slender curl of dry cinnamon bark was resting quietly on its curved side. I stood completely still for several gentle breaths, letting its warm, woody aroma drift around me. Leaning my round woolly chest forward with a slow, cautious push, I nudged the brittle curl. It gave a crisp little rattle against the ceramic glaze, rolling half a turn before lodging snugly against a wooden floor seam. Finding the fragrant curve perfectly sheltered, I settled down to rest right beside it.