When it’s time, I know, I can tell in my bones, the ways the knees ache, those joints with a clock of their own, and I drag my fingers through the hair, back from the temples, and I survey the room of the sprawled out legs, the stacks of books, the balls of yarn, the half deck of Rook scattered, and I smile and chime the hour quiet.“I think it’s time for bed, folks.” They cheer wild. Race for their beds. They know when it’s time too. Time for the day’s best hour, the children’s hour, the moon out the window and night studded up with the stars. I pick up and I return and I lead a…