Do you ever feel you need to go to the well, the deeper well? To scour it and scrub it until its stone sides are shiny-wet? Do you then drop the bucket and jig it down there in the cold black? Brim it until it’s slosh-full of ideas? Haul it back up, hand over hand?

But if that’s no good, lower a ladder right down into the dark. Not metal, no. Something homemade with wobbly wooden struts, rope tied, that’s what you want. I don’t know why.

Down you go. Mining.

Now, call out and hear those words you thought you could not find. They are rolling around you, aren’t they? Bouncing off the stone, spiralling up and into the circle of light. Raven-black, winged words taking flight.

Let them go, and keep looking. Don’t mind the candle. Don’t mind the light. Use your eyes in the dark.