At first light the pansy bed along the library path sat very still, as if each small face were waiting for the watering can to finish saying good morning. Only after the last drop had nodded back did the yellow one turn toward the sidewalk.
We asked at the kiosk. "I thought they were painted on," said a man with a newspaper under his arm. "Then the purple pair looked at my shoes, nodded, and blinked once. I said hello out loud. It seemed only fair."
The park keeper left a card in the rake: please do not lean over the bed until they have finished greeting the can. The class is short. After one blink they rest their cheeks on their own leaves and save the next look for whoever comes by after lunch.
The next morning a neighbor claimed the white one had practiced on the lamp post at dusk. By breakfast they were back in a tidy row, holding a single blink for the first polite passerby.