What comes now? I taste the air and some strange scent colors it so, some hint of mystery whispers to me. Who is to know what the future brings? Here is wisdom: even the prophets were surprised when what they had foreseen had come to pass. Dreams can only speak in riddles, visions mix with imagination so that neither are distinct. Though sometimes, it is true that we find ourselves ready when these things arrive, unexpected or no. I am not saying to repent, for the time is at hand — this has been so for two thousand years. It is something I spy with the eye of my psyche, like a ghost yet to be born: something crouched to shake the sky when in its bounding shall leap. Perhaps it will be a small, thing, after all, but such that things will all change — if I have the flavor right of it, what tastes like change to season this world of daylight.
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