The gazebo in the square put up a quiet notice at dawn: knitting circle for spiders, rafters welcome, no need to bring yarn. By noon a pale lace hung between the slats, still trembling as if it had just finished a bow.
We asked at the kiosk. "I thought it was only a prettier cobweb," said a woman with a bag of rolls. "Then I saw the tiny needles. They work in a smaller voice than the leaves."
The park keeper left a second card on the post. Kindly ask the breeze to wait until tea, it said. The lace likes to cool on the wood before anyone tries it on the light.
A day later a sparrow sat under the finished piece and nodded, as if checking the pattern. The keeper poured tea for himself and one extra cup for the air, just in case it arrived on time.