Threads (Just about six)

After dreaming of Dresden, I couldn’t kick pebbles on the lane anymore.
Does anyone else miss quiet Sundays?
I like the color of the outside of the Louvre.

There are some grandmother spices from my age six olfactory file that I cannot seem to duplicate in my own kitchen. I came close today while driving with tea and almonds on a warming November Sunday as crackly dry leaves rushed past my window.

Threads seem to fall wherever I linger.