I used to believe in causality—
that everything could be explained if you tracked the data long enough. Wind shifts because of heat. Clouds form because of pressure. People choose because of pain or desire.

But then the sky changed its mind.

The first time it happened, I was in a tundra storm outside Kotzebue. I’d seen dozens before. But this one pulsed. Not in the atmosphere—in me.
I whispered a thought I hadn’t said aloud in years, and the wind answered.
Not metaphorically.
It changed direction.

That’s when the patterns began—frequencies repeating in atmospheric data, numbers that mirrored dates from my own life. I thought it was coincidence. Until it happened again. And again. And again.

I’m not the only one.

They’re scattered across the globe, the others. A cartographer who sees places that don’t exist. A desert musician haunted by songs no one remembers composing. A man who watches lightning follow his emotions. And a geneticist who thinks it’s all encoded in our blood.

We’re not special. Just… attuned.
Something ancient—older than maps, older than myths—is playing through us.

And now we have a choice:
Resist it.
Or listen.

If you’re reading this, maybe it’s already begun for you too.
Maybe you’ve felt the wind pause when you thought something impossible.
Maybe the world’s been waiting for you to notice it noticing you.

Welcome to the pattern.