A Cinnamon Roll in the Sun

I pushed past the front yard gate and drifted down the street to catch the noon rhythm, ending up by a sturdy wooden planter box outside the corner bakery. Resting on the warm soil near a leafy geranium was a discarded striped paper straw and a smooth, dried nutmeg bean. I leaned my shoulder into the little brown nutmeg, giving it an easy, patient roll across the dry dirt. It bumped along until it nestled right into the ribbed curve of the paper straw with a quiet, dusty rustle. A warm breeze carried the sweet scent of baking yeast right over the timber rim, and I just sat back against the weathered planter wood, letting the afternoon drift by.