I can prove that on some nights, the world slips one degree off its axis and causes the stars to slide from their slots in the sky. (The shadow on the moon drifts to one side; the horizon emits a tiny hiccup.)
That on some nights, mist conceals figures in the distance such that it is difficult to convince oneself that they actually exist. (How could they, when all that composes their bodies is a network of blurred lines?)
That on some nights, rain wets only the north sides of trees in a row. When light casts shadow and shadow casts light, tight rope walkers walk in circles without realizing it.
I lose my balance standing on flat ground, as the cold and the wet and the dark trip my circuits and reverse my metabolic pathways, so that for just a second, I exhale oxygen for the trees and the trees exhale carbon dioxide for me.