The heat moved in today,
making its humid argument
for winter's relief.
But the birds,
blue jays calling out
hawk-like barbs,
a warbler aiming
its yellow replies
at the robin's
cracking whistles,
white-capped sparrows
filling the gaps
with their small
nervous chitters.
All this oracular fever
raising questions for me
about silence:
why seek it,
is it even possible?

Later in the day
two rabbits with wavering ears
join in at the garden wall,
sitting quiet in the wild banter
with padded feet and twitching noses.
Butterflies and flowers
ignite the garden with colorful gestures
as orange petals close up,
tight-lipped in the setting sun.
The dry lawn draws a green breath
to crickets combing electric lullabies,
and a female nighthawk's warning hiss.

As the last peach-smear of light falls away,
the fading glow blurs into shades of darkness.
I sit on the garden wall
listening in this near silence
for answers to my unspoken questions,
grateful for every sound I hear.