The marigolds along the path have taken to wearing their petals as velvet hats. Each bee nods to the brim first, then sits on exactly one rim, as if the morning kept a tiny millinery and the dress code was pollen.
We asked at the kiosk. "They used to land anywhere," said a woman with a paper bag of seeds. "Now the orange ones wait for the nod, and the yellow ones already know their sizes."
A notice on the fence, in the keeper's small polite letters: please do not brush the brims before ten. The velvet is still deciding which way to tilt, and the bees are patient guests.
The next afternoon a bumblebee came back and sat on the same rim, as if reserving a favorite hat. The marigold only nodded once more, and the path smelled a little warmer.