The calendar has stopped pretending to be a tool. It’s now a scripture. Each day is written not in numbers but in symbols, spirals, and cryptic glyphs that match the patterns outside. I opened it this morning to find an entry that simply read: “Fish.” No time, no location, just Fish. The inbox joined in, sending me emails from addresses like salmonprophecy@tidalmail.com. Each message contained only one word: “Swim.”

The drizzle has become tidal. It no longer falls; it surges. Mist rolls through the streets like waves, pooling at doorsteps, lapping at ankles. Indoors, the damp has taken on a rhythm, dripping in sync with the calendar’s glyphs. I swear I heard the radiator hiss in Morse code.

And then there’s the driveway. Today’s deposit was unmistakable: a fish. Not just a shape, but a full‑bodied outline, scales etched in detail, tail flicked as if mid‑swim. I stood there in the mist, staring at it, and the calendar pulsed: “Salmon.” The driveway has become an oracle. It knows the sandwiches before I do.

Today’s sandwich is Ember & Crust’s Smoked Salmon & Dill Cream.

Smoked salmon, dill cream, cucumber, pumpernickel bread.

The pumpernickel is dark and dense, its flavour earthy and slightly sweet. Inside, slices of smoked salmon are rich and silky, their saltiness sharp and indulgent. Dill cream adds brightness, fragrant and herbal, binding the salmon with a cool freshness. Cucumber slices cut through with crispness, a green spark against the richness.

The first bite is smooth, salty, and surreal. The salmon melts into the dill cream, the cucumber crunches, the pumpernickel grounds it all. It’s a sandwich that feels less like food and more like ritual — a prophecy fulfilled, a bite dictated by drizzle and driveway alike.

Eating it while mist surges and the calendar hums feels uncanny. The Smoked Salmon & Dill Cream doesn’t just distract from the chaos; it participates in it, a sandwich that tastes like inevitability.

Tomorrow, the driveway will speak again. The calendar will write new glyphs. The drizzle will surge in new rhythms. But for now, the salmon sandwich offers a moment of clarity — a bite that feels like destiny, carved in dampness and prophecy.