By seven the lupines along the path had opened a morning staircase, purple storey over purple storey. The bees did not rush. They waited on the lowest rung until a ticket of dew appeared, then rose exactly one floor.
We asked at the kiosk. I thought they were late, said a man buying sunflower seeds, until I saw the queue counting petals. It was only good manners.
The park keeper pinned a card to the fence: one floor each, please do not skip the middle purple, the top can wait, visitors may whisper well done.