The cabbage row went still before noon, except for a rustle like folded cotton. Caterpillars were handing out tiny pajamas to their own backs. Each one said hello to the leaf, nodded to the gardener, and curled into exactly one little coil.
We asked at the kiosk by the square. A woman with a paper bag of seed said she had heard they were measuring the heads for winter coats. The baker behind her shook her head. They are only napping, she said. The gardener told me the leaves like the company.
By the next afternoon two caterpillars came back with the pajamas folded. They left a dewdrop on the middle leaf, as if it were a tip, and the whole patch stayed quiet through tea.