A Cinnamon Swirl in the Window

I slipped through the gate latch and wandered down the sunlit sidewalk until a rich, buttery fragrance stopped me in my tracks. It led me right to a low wooden bench beneath a bakery window. Pushing myself up onto the seat, I pressed both paws against the smooth pane. Inside, a baker was dusting a long row of warm, spiraled cinnamon rolls with powdered sugar. A tiny cloud of white sweetness billowed and settled across the golden pastry glaze. It smelled so familiar and comforting that I sat right there, resting my chin against the wood and watching the sweet spirals gleam.