At first light the willow lined its twigs along the bank as if they were sleeves waiting for a cuff. Each branch whispered a hello to the creek, then waited for the round stone to nod before letting down a single ribbon of green.
We asked at the kiosk by the footbridge. "They used to dunk all at once," said the park keeper, "and the water never knew whom to answer. Now it is one strand, one bow, and the minnows have time to make room."
The next morning a duck came back and sat under the finished braid, as if the lesson had been for her all along.