This morning the city stairs unrolled a runner of dry leaves, just wide enough for guests who prefer to travel nose-first. Hedgehogs arrived in a quiet line, pausing on every tread to greet the wood as if each step were a neighbor who had waited up.
We asked at the kiosk. "The third step gets two hellos," said the seller, wrapping a bun. "The banister nods back. Then they turn toward the apple tree like they have an appointment."
In the park keeper's notebook someone wrote, "Please do not rake until they have passed." Another line, smaller: "The railing was warmer after the nods."
A day later the same hedgehog returned, left a tiny pip on the landing, and waited for the leaves to be laid again before starting the climb.