Chambermaid With Ravens

The Aberdeen bus arrives, deposits and boards the same people daily. One is the dark-haired chambermaid at the tourist lodge, awkward in her print dress and wearing a frown. Her breasts inspire while her legs are quintessence. The sun dispels moisture and with fire-blackened face I buy a popsicle after work and achieve a counterfactual childhood. This is what the chambermaid’s scowl is about, the frozen treat and smile of a grown man. On a summer night what passions would I find in her? We take our place in the pattern of daily activity, pick-up trucks with crews arriving and leaving, uniformed rangers narrow in their imaginations. Two ravens fly low over the clearcut like weather, in weather, there will be weather. Felling trees in the forest, I look uphill. The ravens float like hawks, nearly immobile.