JOURNAL

In the Haze of a Slow Day

Some days drift like low fog across the moors of the mind—hazy, quiet, and without urgency. Today was one of those days. The kind where time forgets its edges and everything feels slightly out of sync.

I didn’t awaken with any particular fire in my bones, no urgent task clawing at me from the shadows. Still, I moved through the motions of the day with a soft persistence. In the quiet hours of the morning, I made cheese from scratch—a small, alchemical ritual that brought a hint of satisfaction. The yogurt is now tucked away, slowly culturing in its glass jar like a silent spell working its way through the ether. 

Later, I found myself in an unexpected conversation with an old client. We spoke of politics, of change, of shadows in high places—yet somehow it remained kind, even thoughtful. There was no venom, just the unraveling of ideas between two minds willing to wander a little deeper than usual.

Emails were answered, recipes were re-shelved, and fragments of order were stitched back into my personal chaos. Still, the weight of the day feels like velvet—soft but heavy. I am not tired, just unmotivated. As if the muses have taken the day off and left me to my own quiet brooding.

The rest of this gray afternoon will likely be spent watching educational videos—absorbing knowledge in small doses like a modern-day scholar cloaked in a hoodie rather than a woolen cape.

Not every day must be marked with grand achievement. Some are meant for drifting, for soft pauses, for stillness. The storm will return soon enough. For now, I sit with the silence.