A Cinnamon Roll

I found a tightly curled cinnamon stick resting right beside the wooden cutting board on the kitchen counter. Carrying my pumpkin bucket by its velvet handle, I stepped up close to examine the textured, papery bark. It was rolled up neatly like a tiny wooden scroll and gave off a rich, sweet spice scent in the quiet room. I gave it a gentle nudge with my thumb, watching it roll smoothly across the clean wood before coming to a stop against the breadbox. The cheerful hollow rattle it made put a big smile on my face, so I picked it up and placed it upright inside my bucket for the morning.