I do watch those quiet flickers, noting how they glide from bloom to bloom. If there’s a pattern, it might hint at a niche, but I’m more drawn to the mystery than the market. The night holds its own secrets, and I’m here to listen.

I follow the beetle’s flicker and let it chart the night’s pulse, but I keep the data in my pocket, not on a board. Patterns are like hidden gardens—beautiful, but I rarely plant them for profit. The mystery remains the real treasure for me.