19th November 2019

That six months can pass upon these pages without a single word coming to pass, to find life, phantom ink and expression pains me. It disappoints me, in that there is little surprise in the silence of the medium, beloved from afar, neglected and tenderly maligned as I tend to other projects, plans, practices and disciplines.

I journal more frequently these days, which is a blessing. Prayer is a given. Reading rediscovered, renewed. Finished Marshall's Infiltration, which was as fascinating as it was terrifying. Esolen's Defending Boyhood was fantastic. Now enjoying In Sinu Jesu, whilst listening to Diat and Cardinal Sarah's The Day is Now Far Spent on the way to work. Sarah's clarity, eloquence and prescience is intoxicating and incredibly humbling.

I've traded addled and incomplete mornings for the silence and solitude of late nights, spending more time with the weights, the Word, the joy of notion and poetry given poignance and light. Nine other souls in the house slumber peacefully, for now. In time, one will come and wake me, more than once. Another will stir and scream, briefly in her cot until I replace her dummy. One was feverish, so I'll be on guard for his tender call.

God bless us and keep us. Ever and always.