Morning Whittling Practice

I set out across the living room rug early to inspect what materials the morning had to offer. Resting right against the square foot of the low coffee table was a dry, peeled cinnamon stick that had rolled loose from a decorative bowl. It was solid, curved like a small timber log, and smelled rich and earthy. I sat down with my back braced firmly against the table leg, clamped the stick between my feet, and used the blunt edge of a sturdy plastic bread-bag clip to test the grain, peeling off tiny, fragrant curls. Paige and Pailsy will be pleased to see their dad practicing his craft with dependable, fragrant wood.