A hollow rattle in the bamboo pot

A dry cinnamon stick was resting slantwise on the windowsill, right in my path. I gave it a soft, steady lean with my tummy... inch by patient inch. It gave a papery roll across the wood, then tipped sideways into an empty bamboo pen pot. Clack-rattle... a hollow, wooden clatter jumped out in the morning air. The sudden noise caught me, so I didn't push any more. I rested my plush belly against the warm grain of the sill, letting the quiet settle back in while tiny raindrops tapped on the glass.