Dawn at the strawberry bed now begins with a lesson no louder than a seed. The berries sit in straw like pupils on a bench, each one practicing a greeting before it is allowed a single speckle.
We asked at the kiosk. The woman selling jam lids said a pale berry from the second row had been sent back, quite kindly, to say good morning to the straw again. The gardener kept a notebook of thanks: the watering can will not pour until it has been nodded to, and extra dots are postponed until tomorrow.
By noon the class had said hello, nodded to the spout, and placed exactly one freckle. A sparrow walked the furrow as if taking attendance. Next morning the same can was still on duty, slightly damper, and the first berry of the day waited with a cheek as neat as a pin.