Cinnamon sauce

Every morning, I woke up, half dream, half adrenaline, and now, the fragrances downstairs. There are cinnamon flowers downstairs, and I only like the smell of cinnamon flowers, which are too strong, can smell sweet and even greasy in the air from one street, and the temperature is higher; it is nothing like this, like a spiritual little animal, which only smells of venom in the morning and at night, as if the noise of day would frighten her. And when you walk at night and think in peace, you see, yo, it's blooming. There is a difference between colour and scent, and there is always a feeling that the light yellows of gold and cinnamon don't seem to be able to cope with a few autumn rains, and become the color of a bad colored and pale cloth, which is much better, and that the vibrating oranges in this dark season are more and more important than the smell of gold and cinnamon, even though, in this case, the difference between the smell of the cinnamon and the smell of the cinnamon is different, and that the smell of the cinnamon is more of a fruit than the smell of the cinnamon, which I usually dry up directly on the porridge, and the sweetness of the silk; the cinnamon is the most suitable for the fragrance rather than sweet, with a bit of white honey honey. God knows how many times I've tried to open it in the year