Something is about to happen. I do not know where destiny’s source lies, or even from where this feeling comes, but within my marrow is an unsettled anticipation: for I know not what it is, but something approaches. Whatever the signs I have a tune to in my intuition, there is a certain air to this hour, a pregnant inbreath before a strong wind will blow, a herringbone sky before a hard rain. Expect the unexpected — as if you could, as if you would not still be surprised. Or perhaps I know nothing. As with anything, one might frame a perspective, for I would not take these as words of some prophet. I am just some fool who believes he perceives, and perhaps I reach beyond myself. If something does come, though, be not of demeanor that says you were not forewarned. Something draws to open, and I am someone to say I told you so.