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It’s quiet, Paris. The rain is dancing lightly on the pier and on the deck and I feel as light—ben, it’s just getting heavier all of a sudden—now it’s tiptoeing again—getting heavy again, and back to its lightness – you get the idea. Yet, all the same, it feels quiet in my world.

First night sleeping on my neighbour’s boat was a quiet success (chatty owner is still in India, that’s why), except for when the record player decided to play my Bach vinyl on its own, ten minutes after ‘Brandenburg Concerto No. 1 in F Major’, which was the last song on side 1, ended – for two seconds only, and only twice, while I was on a call with my crazy and talented classical improviser pianist friend Julien, quietly talking about fugue, which I’m quietly learning about, about his mahjong winning, and a few projects—shhh, quiet before the posh spirit says hello again! Once again, I’ve made a new space into a home – with my personal belongings and arrangement; with minor leaks, water supply and thermostat misbehaviour dealt with – quietly.

I’m smiling, Paris; that last sentence made me smile. The lemongrass scent coming out of the humidifier makes me smile. My feet are starting to feel chilly while I’m sitting on a chair cross-legged in front of a large freestanding mirror – thoroughly cleaned – with my computer on my lap – hence it’s called a laptop – and I’m smiling because I have my oil-filled radiator in this room ready to be turned on, quietly. My adaptability, that helps me feel at home in a new space, makes me smile.

I’m smiling at my quietly sore legs from running three kilometres every single morning for the last five days – you’ll understand that this is an achievement when I tell you that my set goal, after starting about six weeks ago, is still just five minutes, so that I am always sure I’ll reach that goal when I step outside in my cute running gear – well, the running gear is okay but I’m cute; so that I get to hype myself up after five minutes, and that almost always boosts my mood and motivates me to run longer. There are days that I only run for five minutes, but they are rare and they still make me feel great: it reinforces my belief that I can handle anything, all that bliss ahead of me. I haven’t always been running first thing in the morning – after the meditation; sometimes it’s in the afternoon or in the evening, and I’ve been chill about it. My flexibility makes me smile. The meditation is getting quieter – without music – and longer – closer to an hour again, and that makes me ache – sorry, I meant smile, and slightly hornier than usual, actually – imagine that—shhh, breathe….

Writing is going well—excuse me: writing is getting quietly exciting now as I have set a stage for scenes and conversations that quietly come to me as I calm my libido down–I mean as I go about my day. Same same – sexual energy and creative energy is one and the same, right? Doesn’t matter! Something is quietly flourishing inside of me and it is joyful. It is joyful when I’m cooking; it is joyful when I’m being spoiled by a restaurant. It is joyful when I’m making my own coffee; it is joyful when I pay just under £5 for a flat white. It is joyful when I’m running; it is joyful when I’m sitting still. It is joyful when I’m with my daughter, or with my son, who just quietly turned 21 this week; and it is joyful when I’m alone with myself. It is joyful when someone says I look beautiful; it is joyful when someone takes their time to reply to my text. It is joyful when it’s sunny; and it is (even more) joyful when it’s raining – I’m rare, I know!

Quietly, Paris, I know that everything that I want is gaining momentum. Joyfully, Paris, I know that everything that I am is gaining momentum. Like clouds, as beautiful as ones I saw above Van Gogh’s grave in Auvers-sur-Oise, gathering and getting thicker. When it rains, it pours. Well, or it drizzles, like English rain – quietly, persistently, joyfully. Either way, Paris, I’m already wet!

londres, le 25 janvier 2026

je t’embrasse !

d.o.