Friday draped in haze, wearing its quiet like a loose shirt.

Waited this morning from 10 to noon for a crew that never came. The kind of waiting where you second-guess every sound outside — leaf blower? delivery? redemption? — and end up just pacing and rereading the same sentence three times. Gave up eventually, but not before having a small conversation with a squirrel on the fence. He seemed equally unimpressed by the lack of progress.

Once free of obligation, wandered a while. Took the back way through the trees where the ground still holds last night’s rain, and the mushrooms are staging their slow uprising. One looked like a tiny red umbrella, forgotten by a fairy with better things to do. Passed someone walking two dogs — one anxious, one confident — a duo that reminded me of most of my decision-making process.

Drew for a bit this afternoon. Nothing profound — just lines and loops, loose shapes turning into something vaguely owl-like. Or maybe a spaceship. Sometimes it’s better not to know what it is while it’s still becoming.

Saw a fox print in the mud, sharp and fresh. No fox in sight, just the echo of movement. That felt about right for today — evidence of life passing by, quietly, while you’re looking the other way.

Tonight? Windows cracked open, low hum of crickets tuning up for their set. Might read, might not. Might just sit still and let the dark arrive on its own time.

No grand revelations. Just breath, breeze, and a sense that things are still turning, even when you’re paused.