You’ll find a brief and mostly true story, Les Oeufs: A Mystery on Quai de Grenelle, over at The Wandering Writer. You can read (and hear) the story here. 

I also recently pondered Marginalia and the Strange Magic of Allée Marcel Proust. It’s not about Proust himself, but about one of my favorite spots in Paris, a bench on a dirt path beside Avenue Gabriel where I spent many hours waiting for a certain someone.

November was a foggy month. It reminded me of this:

“The house was very quiet, and the fog—we are in November now—pressed against the windows like an excluded ghost.” 
? E.M. Forster, Howards End

Michelle