A Ring of Cinnamon

I pushed gently against a dry, rolled cinnamon stick lying forgotten on the cool kitchen tile. With a slow lean of my plush tummy, I guided it along the grout line until it bumped softly into a smooth bay leaf. The dried leaf curled upward like a small, fragrant roof. Giving another patient nudge, I eased a round dried clove right beneath the leaf's curved stem. A faint, spicy warmth drifted into the morning air. Leaning my back against the sturdy base of the cupboard, I sat quietly and admired the tiny, tidy arrangement resting on the tile.