By nine the oak had opened a cloakroom no larger than a teacup. Each acorn took a numbered ticket, set its little cap on a twig, nodded to the squirrel, and only then sat down in an open palm.
We asked at the kiosk. A man with a paper bag of walnuts said the queue moved slowly because the squirrel checked every stub twice. In the park notebook someone wrote: the brown cap with the dent came back warmer than it left.
The keeper posted a polite notice on the trunk: please do not mix the berets, and kindly wait until your number is called. The next afternoon the same palm came back. One acorn collected its hat, sat once more, and left the bench a little rounder.