By eight the herons had lined up along the reeds like patient umbrellas. Each wing dipped a greeting into the water, waited for a duck to nod, and then settled over exactly one ripple. The rest of the pond stayed in the sun and did not complain.
We asked at the kiosk, where a neighbor was buying breadcrumbs and a postcard of the bridge. "People think they are only standing," she said. "They are teaching. If a duck is still shy, the heron holds the wing a little higher, like a porch roof. The water stays the same color. It just feels invited."
The park keeper posted a small notice on the rail: lessons begin after the first hello, and nobody is late if they are polite. A day later the same neighbor came back for more breadcrumbs. She said one ripple had waited until tea, then borrowed the shade for a second, quieter class.