In the garden behind the square, the striped umbrella over the tea table has begun keeping a proper afternoon. Butterflies arrive one by one, fold their wings into tidy napkin triangles, and wait for the teapot to nod before they doze until midafternoon.
We asked at the kiosk on the corner. "I thought the cloth had extra lace," said a woman with a string bag of pears. "Then a cabbage white tucked itself in beside the sugar bowl. Very neat. Didn't even wrinkle the hem."
The park keeper pinned a small card to the table leg: Kindly pour after they have folded. The kettle, for its part, has learned to wait.
The next day a swallowtail came back with a friend and chose the shady side, closer to the jam.