By midmorning the wisteria over the side gate had formed a quiet line. Each purple cluster waited its turn, leaned toward the first hat of the day, then glanced back at the threshold as if to ask whether the porch was ready.
We asked at the corner kiosk. "I took my straw hat off, just to be polite," said a man with a paper bag of plums. "They nodded, and only then came down a palm's width. I could have walked under them the whole time, but that seemed rude."
A pencil note on the gatepost, from the park keeper: Please let the clusters finish their hello. The path is not blocked. They are only practicing.
The next afternoon a neighbor in a sunbonnet stood still until the lowest bloom tapped the brim and drew back. The latch clicked as usual. The geranium on the step looked pleased.