It’s tempting with the long light of almost-solstice to think the sun will never go down, that there will be no night. So last evening we took a woods walk that started at 8:30 and ended when we could scarcely see the path in front of us. We walked on instinct, our feet as sensors, the knowledge of the trail in our heads and in our soles. Soft darkness rolled in, the ferns and ivy blurred, our vision shrunk to the brown outline of the path we walked on. Birds settled themselves for the night. I fell behind the others, listening for the moment when day became night. I thought for a second that I heard it. But I was wrong. It had already happened; it was too quiet to hear.