Seems to me cottonwoods feel changes
Before any other tree.
Even the gust edge of an approaching front
Sets all its leaves into flight.
It’s the first tree to sound the alarm,
To set the distance shimmering,
Telling us the wind is at our backs
And tonight will be a night of storms.
I study all the trees for signs
But a cottonwood tells me everything.
How soon to find shelter
And how many stars are born to dreamers.