A neighbor rumor had it that the elephants were practicing rain. By breakfast the rumor had shrunk to something kinder: they were only learning how to stop. The smallest one stood by the daisies, lifted a can the size of a jam jar, and waited until the bench finished its nod. Then the trunk tipped once. One petal brightened. The can went still, as if the rest of the bed had already had enough kindness for the morning.
We asked at the kiosk. "I came for a roll and stayed for the pause," said a woman with jam on her thumb. "The flower looked surprised, then polite. I wrote in the little book: please keep the second pour for tomorrow."
The park keeper posted a card on the gate: trunks may borrow a can, flowerbeds may accept exactly one drink, and visitors are asked not to clap until the last drop has sat down.