The midnight hour brought gusty wind that was freighted with a chill more characteristic of March than of June. Most of the crickets fell silent, and the chirps of those who continued were often drowned by the loud rustling of leaves and humming of pine trees. Once the wind ceased, strange, luminous bands of cloud formed and drifted above the suddenly silent woodlands. A few patches of dark sky showed stars, but the early light has now consumed them, and the morning retains a vague overcast. The air smells of recently agitated foliage. Already, the woodpeckers have set up a clattering and the robins chirp. I miss the wind.