Just after the watering can had finished its round, the forget-me-not bed opened a morning class in polite remembering. The blue faces sat up as if a tiny bell had rung, greeted the first passerby, then turned and nodded to the bench so the wood would not feel left out.
We asked beside the kiosk. A man with a folded map said he had given his name only once, very quietly, and a cluster near the path repeated it back like a shy roll call. "They waited for the bench to nod," he said, "and only then did they keep it." A woman on her way to the bakery claimed the flowers would not accept a second name before lunch, which she found restful.
The park keeper pinned a note to the rake: guests may introduce themselves; the bed will remember exactly one. Compliments are welcome. Nicknames must be as short as a petal. By evening the same cluster still held that single name, and the bench looked pleased to have been counted first.