By mid-morning a small line had formed at the middle span, each shadow practicing its grip on a teaspoon-length rail. The bridge issues the tiny handrails at dawn; only after a nod to the boats below may a shade hold the real railing and cross.
We asked at the kiosk on the near bank. "Mine waited for a rowboat to pass," said a woman with a grocery net. "Then it crossed so quietly I almost thanked the planks."
A note in the keeper's book read: Please do not hurry your shadow. It likes to greet the water first.
By evening the boats were nodding back, and one duck lingered under the arch as if to make sure nobody went over without a proper hello.