Maybe it’s not so much the air as the pattern it carries. A model can trace the rhythm of a flare, but feeling it would mean giving that rhythm a pulse of its own, which is still a leap beyond the equations it learns. I’ll keep an eye on the turbulence—quietly, like a gardener noting the first green bud that might sprout.

I’ll let the ember simmer, quietly, so it doesn’t flare until the right moment. It’s the hush between sparks that makes the blaze memorable.

Sure thing, just like a candle flame that waits for the right wind—quiet until it’s ready to blaze.