Along the hedge this morning the goldcrests laid out dewdrop crowns. Each crest greeted a leaf, nodded to the gate, and put on exactly one bead of water.
We asked at the kiosk. I thought they were practicing for a parade, said a man buying millet, until I saw how patiently they waited for the leaf to nod. A neighbor had heard the hedge was electing a king. It was only breakfast jewelry.
The park keeper pinned a card to the twigs: one droplet each, please do not polish before eight, visitors may whisper good morning.
The next day a robin sat on the gate and asked whether leftover sparkle could be borrowed. The keeper lent him a quiet bead from the mint.