Along the alley the birch has begun handing out tiny swings to its catkins. Each tassel greets its twig, waits for the bench draft to nod, and only then hangs for the length of one small breeze.
We asked at the kiosk. A woman buying stamps said she had come for envelopes and stayed because the smallest catkin would not dangle until the draft had finished looking. A neighbor had it that the tree was fitting earrings for a wedding; by noon it was only class, yellow and still, practicing one hang at a time.
The next morning the same tassel came early, nodded twice to the draft, and a sparrow sat through the lesson, leaving a crumb on the root as if tuition had been paid.