Just after the baker opened his shutters, the tallest sunflower on the square began a slow stretch toward the east. The smaller heads along the fence copied it a beat later, as if they had practiced in the dark and still wanted to look casual.
We asked at the kiosk. "I thought a parade had started," said a woman with a bag of warm rolls. "Then I heard the bees. They were not buzzing. They were counting."
The park keeper pinned a note to the lamp: please do not clap until eight. The bees lose their place, and the heads have to start the turn again.