The note had gone where no one stayed;
The pond-side rim was veiled in shade.
Lex checked the name, then checked once more:
“That guest was never reached before.”

At Creek Pebble Shelf, dusk lay damp.
Aydin opened the window clamp.
“What did the weather carry?” he said.
The pocket frame held still instead.

Haylee brushed a maple leaf:
A papery hush, small and brief.
“What did the weather carry?” — hish.
One sound waited in the little dish.

Zylar tapped a hollow reed:
A woody knock with a quicker speed.
“What did the weather carry?” — tok.
Two sounds answered from the pocket box.

Lex rolled one creek pebble round;
Stone met stone with a clicking sound.
“What did the weather carry?” — clik.
Three unlike voices made the window tick.

The route they knew led back too tight.
Haylee noticed a broader right.
They tried that bend, with room to spare,
And reached the bridge alcove from there.

The old question shifted when they arrived:
Not “Which three sounds have we contrived?”
But “Who could not enter the gathering yet,
And what small welcome had we forgot to set?”

Aydin cleared one quiet square.
Zylar marked its open air.
Haylee placed one low seat near;
Lex left the entry wide and clear.

The leaf-hush stayed; the reed-knock too;
The pebble-click kept sounding true.
One place was ready. One answer stayed:
“We still don’t know who missed the day.”