Before dawn in Felt Presence, a skeleton heard tapping from the conservatory.

The fern had pressed one frond against the roof.

“Rain?” the skeleton guessed.

It fetched a watering can, but the fern shook its leaves.

The other skeleton tried drumming softly on the glass with two knitting needles.

Inside, every frond settled.

They took turns until their arms grew tired. Then they arranged a leaky thimble to drip water onto the roof, one small drop at a time.

The fern opened a window.

A leaf emerged, holding a tiny umbrella.

The skeletons sat beneath it and listened.