I yell ok. Finish something I'm doing, then something else, walk slowly round the corner to my son's room. He is standing arms outstretched waiting for a bearhug. When I close my eyes the passage opens, the dark gorge, I descend. I become a thing with pricked-up ears.
Night becomes a verb.
This isn't a test. And I'm not trying to put you on the spot. In fact, let's open this up to others. But I think of Wordsworth. But he didn't.