By late afternoon the reeds had lined themselves along the pond like shy musicians waiting for permission. They did not sway until a frog on the nearest lily pad lifted a thin stem and gave one small nod. Then the water learned a lullaby made mostly of rustle.
We asked at the kiosk. "I came for rolls and stayed through the second verse," said a neighbor with a folded newspaper. "It is not loud. The ducks keep time with their bills. If you clap, the frog waits until you are finished, then starts again from the hush."
The park keeper posted a card on the railing: evening concerts begin after one polite nod from the conductor. Guests may sit on the bench, not on the score. A snail came back the next day and took the encore the size of a leaf.