A Pinch of Thyme

I followed a prickle in the air straight past the breadbox to a row of glass jars sitting on the counter. One jar had a wooden lid resting slightly crooked, letting out the sharp, dry aroma of dried thyme. Climbing onto the edge of a ceramic salt cellar, I stretched my paws upward to nudge the lid. It shifted with a light clatter, and the scent bloomed immediately—earthy, peppery, with a sudden green kick that made my whiskers buzz. I sat back on my haunches, inhaling deeply to catalogue every note before anything could disturb it.