You will notice the sound of the rain. How it beats rhythmically against the windows, against the roof, against the pavement. You will notice how different the air feels after a week of rainfall, how it feels after a storm.
You will notice the trees how the trees move. They seem to be getting closer. Was that oak tree always so near the house? Was that pine tree always there?
You will notice how smooth the sea is at a certain time in the evening.
You will notice the strange lights that appear above your house every other Friday. You do not understand what they mean, but you find their presence comforting.
You will notice the cats. One or two at first, and then more. So many more. You don’t know where these cats are coming from. Their purring is keeping you up at night.
You will notice how beautiful your body is. Your six wings look radiant in the sunlight, and your eyes are the perfect shade of void.
You will notice your favourite lipstick is now on sale.
You will notice the changing of the seasons, the slow lengthening of the days.
You will notice the tang of salt on the breeze and the ever-present cries of gulls overhead. You live fifty miles from the nearest coast. You do not know how it manages to follow you.
You will notice the figures that seem to follow around at night, darting from one shadow to the next and only visible from the corners of your eyes. Do not worry. They are the crypids that live in your area, and they just want to say hello. They’re very shy.
You will notice the word ‘moist’. You notice it in every book you read, in each newspaper, written in the sky, scrawled in the dirt outside your house. It is everywhere you look.
You will notice the endless sky above you, the emptiness of the void and the smallness of humanity in comparison to the immense size of the universe, and you will go out for pizza and a few drinks.