The square's old finger-post used to keep north in its job description. This week it learned a warmer errand: whenever the bakery opened the ovens, the arrow shivered and pointed the shortest way to a loaf.
We asked at the kiosk. "I was looking for the library," said Mr. Holm, still holding a map. "Then the arrow twitched toward cinnamon. I arrived with a roll and no complaints."
The baker pinned a card to the door: Kindly let the arrow finish sniffing before you follow. Crumbs on the post are welcome; they help it remember the way home.
The next morning a small queue waited for the tremble. When it came, the square walked together, and the signpost pointed north again only after every bag was warm.