# The Gentle Sweep of Linting

## Clearing the Small Stuff

Linting starts small. In the world of writing and making, it's like running a soft brush over your work—catching tiny specks of dust, uneven edges, or forgotten threads that snag the flow. Not a harsh scrub, but a patient pass that leaves everything smoother. On a quiet evening like this one in mid-December, when the light fades early, I think of it as tending a woolen sweater fresh from the dryer: you pick off the lint, and suddenly it feels right again.

## A Mirror for Everyday Moments

What if we linted our days the same way? Those little oversights—the half-read note on the counter, the kind word left unsaid, the cluttered drawer that steals our calm. It's not about perfection, but noticing. Pause before bed, sweep through your hours: Did I listen fully? Did I let go of yesterday's worry? In this practice, life sharpens without strain.

- A rushed email softened with care.
- A cluttered desk cleared for tomorrow's ideas.
- A tense breath released into stillness.

## Finding Flow in the Polish

Over time, this quiet habit builds. Thoughts align, connections deepen, and what once felt frayed runs true. It's a winter's wisdom: in the longest nights, small acts of care light the way forward.

*In the lint of our lives lies the chance to weave something enduring.*