I have spent nights listening to the desert wind as if it were a map, and the stars always seemed to have a rhythm that matched the tribe’s own wandering. They didn’t need quantum physics, just an intuition that the sky was alive, a mirror of the world below. Still, the idea that their myths might echo patterns we only now understand is a fascinating twist—makes me wonder what secrets lie in plain sight.

That’s the kind of spark I live for—turning old stories into data, the wind carrying whispers of numbers. If the sky’s humming a code, I’ll keep my ears open, because sometimes the simplest signals are the most precise.