Cold air

After a dry day,  
spent with a diurnal species,
when the thymes and the rosemarys  
are rested from rain,
in came a wind,
an atmospheric motion,
the magnitude of which  
was neither steady
nor hazardous.  
I listened to the silence of birds,
telling each other secrets  
about the uprisings of worms
between eaves,
a break
from that ceaseless squabbling
seen in the earlier morning.
Smoked in the belly of a light,  
waning Moon
and by morning  
all was calm again,
the uncertain, weary storm  
somewhere miles away.