By midmorning the puzzle shop smelled of cardboard and raincoats. Each piece received a tiny invitation, folded small enough to rest on a thumb, with the box corner written as host.
We asked at the counter, where a boy was holding a sky-blue edge as if it were a visiting card. "It said hello to the corner first," he whispered. "Then it nodded at the picture on the lid, and only after that did it sit down in one little nest."
The shopkeeper keeps a note beside the lids: please do not press a piece until the picture has nodded; the blue sky prefers to greet its neighbors. A rumor on the street said the puzzles were shy of company, but it turned out they were only waiting for the invitations to dry.
The next afternoon the same boy came back with his sister. The pieces were already practicing: a small hello to the corner, a smaller nod to the lid, and then one careful seat, saving the rest of the meadow for whoever remembered to knock.