Along the garden path the pangolins keep a saucer of buttons no larger than dew. Each scale greets the nearest pebble, waits for a daisy to nod, and only then fastens a single morning cloak. Nobody hurries a second button. The first is considered quite enough until the kettle sings.
We asked at the kiosk by the gate. "They dress the way some people pour tea," said the woman who sells stamps and leftover ribbon. "One careful click, then a bow to the daisy. I tried two buttons once, out of curiosity, and the cloak politely unfastened the extra one and handed it back."
The park keeper left a note beside the pebble dish. "The buttons are for scales, not for pockets," he wrote. "If the daisy has not answered, they wait. Yesterday a visitor returned at dusk still wearing yesterday's cloak. The pangolins nodded as if that counted as morning too, and offered the pebble a spare button for overnight."