Night is gradually easing toward as much silence as a summer night can have. I know the crickets down the block will be chirping all night, the cicadas have begun buzzing, and there will be other sounds as well. Various creatures are bound to come nosing about and dogs will bark at them, for example. I'm sitting here thinking about the deep silences of those winter nights when nothing stirs, and I now realize that summer always, eventually, brings a night when I recall and miss those deep silences. In a while there might be a breeze (welcomed, to be sure) which will rustle all those green leaves. Autumn's breezes are louder, the leaves then being dry. But deep winter's breezes barely move the leafless twigs, and only stir the pine needles which then make the softest of arboreal sounds. I'm listening forward to their arrival.