A Cinnamon Roll of My Own

I trotted out through the garden gate early to see the Sunday morning stalls setting up in Winchester! Beside a wooden spice crate, a long, fragrant cinnamon stick had rolled right against an iron barrel hoop. I pounced forward without waiting, but my back paw slipped on a damp cobblestone—whoosh! I went tumbling into a clumsy roll, popping straight back up with two rapid, cheerful nods! I wrapped both plush arms around the rough, curling bark and gave a sturdy heave. It rolled like a tiny brown log, leaving a sweet, spicy dusting all over my yellow paws!