By dusk the streetlamp at Maple Corner had pinned a tiny notice to its pole: etiquette class at first glow, moths welcome, indoor voices around the glass.
We asked at the kiosk. "They used to arrive in a rush," said the keeper, wiping the globe with a cloth no larger than a leaf. "Now each one bows to the glass, nods to the pole, and only then takes a place in the circle. The light lasts longer when nobody hurries."
In the guestbook someone wrote, "The moth in the brown cloak waited for three others. Very polite." Another note, in pencil: "The pole nodded back. I saw it."
A day later the same moths came early and sat on the bench until the lamp warmed up, practicing their bows on the empty air.