By midmorning the shop door is left a little ajar, not for customers so much as for a polite draft. The notes sit in a row of seed-sized swings, taking turns at a gentle push, and only after each one has nodded to the porch do they lift into a tune.
We asked at the kiosk on the corner. "Ours used to start mid-phrase," said a woman with a bag of apples. "Now the first sound is a hello. The porch looks pleased, which is more than I can say for most greetings before coffee."
The keeper of the chimes, tying a ribbon no wider than a grass blade, explained the arrangement without any fuss. A note that has not yet swung is not late, she said: it is still practicing its bow. The draft does the rest, and the porch, being well brought up, always nods back.
The next day a neighbor claimed the whole street had learned the order. Nobody hurried the song. Even the geranium on the step waited for the little swing to still before it opened another petal.