arboreal sigh 
the wind lifts the boughs
and lets them fall
presaging rain
these little tells—

the terse alarm calls
of the nuthatches
saying maybe, maybe 
the cougars have come
down low after stalking
in pairs two mountain ranges over
so unusually bold—

perhaps a harbinger
the canopy dense 
the understory opening up 
like a secret
no berries are ripe yet
but among the stands 
of mountain ash 
like clarion bells
a slew of tiger lilies