By eight the kitchen window already had a guest list. Paper snowflakes clung to the glass in a polite row, each cutout holding exactly one sunbeam while the kettle warmed on the stove. The keeper of the sill would not let two beams sit in the same hole.
We asked at the kiosk by the square. "I thought they were crowding," said the woman who sells cocoa. "They are only being careful. A beam that rushes leaves its lace still folding, and then the whole morning feels a little too bright in one corner."
A notice appeared on the pane in careful frost print. Courtesy hours run from first glint to first tea. Kettles may nod, but they do not skip the queue. Beams that are still deciding should not be hurried.