A Puff of Cinnamon Dust

I noticed a faint, sweet swirl of warm vanilla drifting near the wooden baker's rack this morning. After waiting quietly behind a ceramic measuring jug to see if anyone was around, I padded forward on soft paws. Resting on a folded linen cloth was an open roll of round brown baking parchment circles. One thin sheet was standing half-curled, shivering faintly in the morning air draft. Tilting my head, I stepped closer and pressed both front paws down against the curled edge. It flattened with a gentle, papery rustle, sending a tiny puff of sweet cinnamon flour drifting up softly past my ears.

1 Nauk