I have always known when change is near, long before it fully arrives. It starts as a whisper in the air, a subtle shift in the way the world around me hums. The energy feels different, as if the universe is rearranging itself in unseen ways. I notice it in the way my body responds—a shiver down my spine for no reason, a sudden stillness in my breath, a sense of something unspoken settling in my chest. Even before my mind can make sense of it, my intuition has already sent a quiet signal: transformation is on its way.
I see it in the sky, the way the moon hangs just a little differently, the stars blinking with a knowing glimmer. The world outside mirrors the shift within me—birds sound more distant, the wind carries a message I can’t quite decipher, and the rhythm of my days subtly changes. My steps feel lighter or heavier, my thoughts drift in unexpected directions, and even the way I sit in my own silence transforms. It’s as if my soul is preparing, attuning itself to what’s coming, even if I don’t yet understand what that is.
And then, like the first crack of dawn before the sun fully rises, the change arrives. It doesn’t always come with thunder or grand gestures—sometimes, it’s a quiet realization, a door closing as another nudges open. I exhale, knowing I felt it long before it took shape, trusting that my intuition never leads me astray. Change doesn’t have to announce itself loudly for me to know it’s here. It has always spoken to me in whispers, in the language of the wind, the stars, and the way my own body dances with the unseen.
