We asked at the stall on Maple Lane why the keys had begun to glow. The shopkeeper held up a lantern no larger than a lentil and said the bits used to hurry. Now each one carries a light, nods once to the lock, and only then turns.
From the thank-you notebook by the door: "My front door waited for the greeting and opened as if it had been expecting us." Another line, in pencil: "The lock asked for an encore. We let it have one extra nod."
The next morning a sparrow sat on the lintel and watched a spare key finish its bow. The shopkeeper swears the bird nodded back.