When I was a little girl,
I would always sit next to my Grandma in church.
Every Sunday she would wear a light sweater with deep pockets where she kept a handful of little cinnamon hearts.
Every few minutes during the
meeting I would reach in her pocket and grab a few,
pick out the pocket lint, and pop them in my mouth.
Now she keeps them in a dish on her kitchen table.
I love the memory that they bring each time I visit.
And I even sneak a few every so
often and they are just as yummy.
Even without the pocket lint.