By seven the garden hose had uncoiled itself into a tidy queue along the porch. Each thin stream received a tiny route slip, practiced a hello on the left boot, and only then asked the daisy for a nod before traveling on to the roots.
We asked at the kiosk by the gate. "They used to arrive all at once and startle the petals," said the park keeper. "Now the boot is stop one, the daisy is stop two, and the marigolds have stopped flinching."
In the complaint-and-thanks notebook someone had written, in very small letters: "My laces got a greeting. The tomatoes look grateful."
The next morning a beetle came back and sat on the boot toe, as if to check that the lesson still held.