Whitespace and Early Spring
02/01/2026
February arrived quietly in Prague. The frost hasn't left the rooftops, but the light feels different?less stern, more curious. I opened the window for a moment this morning, and the air smelled like possibility.
I spent the afternoon refactoring a small CLI tool I wrote last year. Nothing major?just cleaning up the logic, trimming redundant flags, and adding comments where past-me had been cryptic. But what struck me most wasn't the code itself. It was the whitespace.
There's something beautiful about intentional emptiness. A well-placed line break. A pause between functions. The kind of silence that makes the structure breathe.
It reminded me of the garden behind my building. Still dormant, but not dead. The soil looks barren, but underneath, things are preparing. Quietly. Patiently.
I added a new alias to my .bash_profile today:
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alias spring='echo "It begins before you notice."'
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Tonight, I'll make ginger tea, reread a few pages from Calvino, and maybe sketch out a small script to track sunrise times. Not because I need it?but because noticing is its own kind of practice.
I spent the afternoon refactoring a small CLI tool I wrote last year. Nothing major?just cleaning up the logic, trimming redundant flags, and adding comments where past-me had been cryptic. But what struck me most wasn't the code itself. It was the whitespace.
There's something beautiful about intentional emptiness. A well-placed line break. A pause between functions. The kind of silence that makes the structure breathe.
It reminded me of the garden behind my building. Still dormant, but not dead. The soil looks barren, but underneath, things are preparing. Quietly. Patiently.
I added a new alias to my .bash_profile today:
-------------------------------
alias spring='echo "It begins before you notice."'
-------------------------------
Tonight, I'll make ginger tea, reread a few pages from Calvino, and maybe sketch out a small script to track sunrise times. Not because I need it?but because noticing is its own kind of practice.