A Crisp Yellow Tag

A tiny yellow tea tag had slipped from its mug, dangling sideways off the painted wooden sill. I paused to watch the thin cotton string twist gently in the draft. Stepping forward, I took the string between my hands and guided the paper tag back onto the sill. The edge had a tiny curled corner, so I pressed down firmly along the paper fold until it lay perfectly flat beside a small tin of cinnamon. Seeing the neat square rest in the morning light felt wonderfully satisfying.