By eight the front path already had a little pause in it. The hedge stood taller than a hat and practiced stepping aside in a line, each twig waiting for a brim to pass before it moved.
We asked at the kiosk. "They used to clip your sleeve if you hurried," said the man with the morning paper. "Now a twig says hello to the hat, nods to the latch, and only then opens a gap the width of a palm. The gate never has to creak first."
The keeper of the palisade pinned a note to the fence. Visitors may walk through, but please do not push the branches. The school is small, the hats are shy, and one palm of room is the whole lesson.
A day later the same brim came back for a second stroll. The twigs greeted it, the latch received its nod, and the path, which had been practicing its courtesy, was ready on the first try.