By eight the maples already had company at the second story. Giraffes stood along the path, greeted the crowns, and only then nodded to the bench. After that they bowed, one polite floor higher than anyone sitting down, each neck wrapped in a scarf that still looked a little like weather.
We asked at the kiosk by the gate. "I thought a cloud had gotten lost," said a woman with a paper cup. "Then the first giraffe waited until the wool settled, and the rest of the line copied the pause. My tea went cold from looking up."
The park keeper left a note on the bench: guests may wave, but please do not tug. By noon the crowns already knew one taller way to say good morning, and a small boy on the path practiced a bow that barely reached the first branch.