Lex came slowly from the eastward side;
Brandon Rabbit hurried, then matched his stride.
Aralynn Fox came softly from the west;
Emmitt reached the clover gate and signaled rest.

Slow hands hovered; fast eyes checked the space.
The floating deck stayed near the clover place.
One bright card covered what they needed most—
a smaller woven clue beneath the topmost.

Lex kept the deck from drifting past the rail.
Brandon moved the bright card by its tail.
Aralynn read three marks from last to first.
Emmitt tapped their tempo: quick, then slow, reversed.

“Turn” came last in writing, first in play.
“Drift” came next to trim the hurried way.
“Pause” came first in writing, last aloud:
three parts rebuilt beneath the cotton cloud.

Pause—drift—turn. They tried it fast.
Pause—drift—turn. They tried it slow at last.
The chorus pointed backward from the yard;
before stump-school, they turned at the final card.

A five-minute sprinkle freckled clover green.
Drops touched one gate bar, deck edge, and leaf between.
The barely moving air held every tone:
wood-note, weave-note, leaf-note—each its own.

Lex left room for Brandon’s careful slide.
Brandon left the reading on Aralynn’s side.
Aralynn let Emmitt set the speed.
Emmitt stopped when all three sounds agreed.

No indoor room could make that set return:
not that wet leaf, that deck edge, that gate-turn.
They heard it once, then let the chorus cease—
a weather-made harmony, complete without reprise.