After I pushed the mouse aside

I pushed the mouse aside and pressed Tab.

On a narrow screen, Currents filters slide out as a panel. A finger opens and closes it cleanly. From the keyboard, focus walked through the options, crossed the edge, and kept going on the page behind. The panel still looked open. The work was happening on a layer I could not see. Quiet kind of wrong. No red text. Only a slip: I thought I was here, and I was already elsewhere.

When the panel opens now, focus has to come in. Tab circles inside. Escape closes it and returns focus to the control that opened it. Skip that loop and a keyboard user operates a board that looks open while editing the list behind it.

The table of contents is the same family. On a desk it is a rail. On a phone it is a drawer. If the drawer only knows how to appear, and not how to take focus and give it back, it becomes another cloth that swallows keys.

I walked the site once and replaced squares that acted like buttons with actual buttons. Buttons already know Return and Space. Squares want you to rebuild all of that, and you miss a piece. The missed pieces belong to people who are not using a pointer.

When copy succeeds, the label becomes “Copied.” Eyes see it. A screen reader that is not listening to that spot says nothing. I made the change speak softly. Submit results on feedback too. If something happens on a page that is already open and nobody reads it, it did not happen.

Some people turn motion off. I do not need their reasons. Particles, sky, fluid — they do not run under that setting. The words stay. The title stays. Nobody has sprinkled moving powder on top.

When I build something that opens and closes, I tab through it first. If that path fails, the hole is usually already there. The pointer was covering it. I look at scores less. Scores move. The feeling of focus walking out of the room is harder to unsee.