By first light the path stone had already been arranged like a tiny foyer. Moss laid out chairs no bigger than beads, and the dew sat in a polite row, each drop waiting its turn to nod at the lizard who keeps the morning shift.
We asked at the kiosk by the gate. "I almost stepped over them," said a man with a paper bag of rolls. "Then the front drop nodded, the lizard nodded back, and I took the long way around the flowerbed. My breakfast could wait one extra minute."
The park keeper left a card under a pebble: guests may watch, but please do not blot the seats. By the time the kettle sang on the nearest porch, the row was empty, the moss looked freshly combed, and the lizard had claimed the warmest patch for a well-earned stretch.