The sky wore linen today

creased with quits folds of dusk,

A breeze passed by, not hurried,

just tracing patterns in the dust.

Leaves whispered secrets to the ground '

soft as footsteps not meant to stay.

Even the sun seemed undecided,

lingering in shades of maybe gray.

Time stretched hours with silver thread,

each moment a muted embroidery.

No thunder, no tears-just weather 

that hums in minor key.