By eight the rowan by the square had gone still, as if someone had asked the berries to line up. Each tiny red bead greeted the nearest leaflet, waited for the bullfinch to nod from the lowest branch, and only then sat down on exactly one string.
We asked at the corner kiosk. A man with a paper bag of crumbs said the class was not jewelry so much as manners. If two berries tried to sit at once, the leaf politely sent them back to the end. A woman in line claimed the bullfinch kept the register with a single tilt of the head.
The park keeper pinned a card to the trunk. The necklace is only so the cluster will not rush, it read. If the bird is still nodding, the string already knows. Come back after one bead has taken its place.