The park piano appeared overnight, tucked under the lindens with the lid already open, as if it had been expecting weather. By nine a light rain had formed a queue, each drop waiting for the one before it to finish a scale.
We asked at the kiosk. "I only came for a paper," said a man with a damp hat, "but the benches keep time better than I do. If you clap in a full voice they look disappointed."
The keeper left a card on the stand: kindly hold applause until the last drop has sat down. By late morning the grass was glittering, and one bench was still whispering bravo into its slats.