By eight the gladiolus bed had already formed a quiet staircase of green. The lowest buds said good morning first, glanced at the watering can, and only then opened one rung of color.
We asked at the kiosk. "They will not skip a floor just because the sun is in a hurry," said the woman with the paper bag of seeds. "Yesterday the bottom one nodded, then the next. It looked like a polite elevator that only goes up."
The park keeper pinned a note to the fence: please do not lift the top buds. The class is practicing one step at a time, and the watering can is calling the numbers.
A day later the same can came back and sat in the grass as if it had a reserved seat. The second bud opened no wider than a teacup, and the whole spike leaned a little taller, satisfied that nobody had cut the line.