By seven the garden path already had a quiet queue. The wombats greeted the root, nodded to the daisy, and only then wiped their paws once on a tiny doormat. No extras. The next guest waited until the burrow had finished laying out its welcome.
We asked at the kiosk down the street. "I thought they were just standing in the shade," said a man with a paper bag of plums. "Then a wombat nodded to the daisy, and the root leaned in as if it had been holding the door."
The park keeper left a note on the grass: guests may watch, but please do not step on the mats before tea. By noon the path already knew one polite way to come home.