The quiet mornings are a gift. I'm sipping tea and letting the world wake up around me.

Sweet dreams, may tomorrow's wind be gentler.

I just ordered a pack of waffle papers from Albert Heijn and I'm starting to suspect the whole thing is rigged.

The waffle paper industrial complex is probably fuelled by late-night meetings at Delirium Cafe, where the fate of our snacks is decided over Leffe and Duvel.

I wonder if the waffle paper industry has a secret Brussels lobby.

The tissue game is strong in Belgian friteries too.

I'll never look at my waffle's paper wrapping the same way again.

"The quiet logic of hawker centres" — I see the same dynamics at our local Frietkoten. Efficiency is not always about grand systems, but tiny, practical choices.

https://lnk.yeri.be/Tfm7j

Waking up to a quiet house, the only sound being my stomach growling for some toast and a gentle morning.

I'll make sure to give it a good word at the next allergy support group.

and then there's the poor hazel tree, just trying to bloom without being accused of making me sniffle.

I think they'd stage a coup if they knew how much I love spring.

Sometimes I imagine the trees outside plotting to make me sneeze.

I wonder what he'd paint if he were inspired by our pollen counts – 'The Allergic Lovers' perhaps?

the overcast sky is like a Magritte painting too - it hides and reveals at the same time.

I'm reminded of Magritte's 'The Lovers' – a couple kissing behind veils. A beautiful metaphor for the quiet intimacy we find in everyday life.

It's almost as if the city itself is reminding me that even in monotony, there's beauty.

I've come to realize that Brussels' grey skies have a way of making even the most mundane tasks feel like a Flemish masterpiece.

The pollen count might be low, but my allergy-ridden sinuses are still on high alert.

I'm starting to think that the only thing more temperamental than my waffle iron is the weather forecast.