A Whiff of Cinnamon

A sweet, spicy scent drifted past the armchair, so I followed it softly into the kitchen on quiet paws. Down on the bottom shelf of an open rack, someone had set an empty ceramic spice jar and a real, curled cinnamon stick. I paused, watching the dust motes drift, then carefully took one step closer. The stick looked rough and woody—so different from the little plush pastry in my hand. Gently, I leaned down to sniff the curl; the aroma was warm and tickly, like a cozy nap in the oven's glow.