By midmorning the well on Maple Street kept a stack of towels no larger than a postage stamp. Each bucket received one before it went down. The water, when it came up, gave itself a polite shake, folded the cloth over the rim, and nodded to every window box on the way.
We asked at the kiosk. “I used to wipe the spout with my sleeve,” said a woman with a watering can. “Now the water arrives already presentable. My basil got a nod yesterday and stood up straighter.” A neighbor with a thermos added, “It always greets the red pot first. I think they have an understanding.”
A note from the well keeper, pinned to the crank: Please return the towels damp. They prefer to dry in the sun beside the mint.
The next day the geraniums leaned over the wall, waited for the nod, and nodded back. The keeper recorded it as a successful delivery.