Don’t sleep. Don’t close your eyes. The small has arrived, quiet, sliding in and out of shadows, igniting sparks, leaving ash and coals in its wake. The small isn’t the problem. The small you can see, a harbinger of bisecting folds. The shift, when it comes, changes everything. That you can’t ever see, but if you are quick enough, almost as quick as the shift, you can catch it, hold fast, eat of the shift, consume it, direct it, become the shift, assuming its place, sending out your own small denizens, proclaiming your arrival, scaring the earth in preparation for the change.