By seven the reeds had set out a tray of colored panes no larger than thumbnails. Dragonflies queued along the water, each pair of wings waiting for a pane, a greeting, and a nod from the lily.
We asked at the kiosk. I came for matches, said a woman with a paper bag of rolls, and stayed because the pond had grown a window. A neighbor insisted they were building a chapel. It was only stained glass, still warm from the morning.
The park keeper posted a note: one sunny circle each, please bring the colors home before dusk. The next morning the same woman came back, this time with a second roll for the reed that had held the queue.