Ravens

And I find myself crouching at noon beneath one fir towering up past the bright green bigleaf maple. While from the canopy a raucous rasp of teen ravenous ravens demand notice. The rain clatters all about, tapping bigleafs, smacking fallen arbutus husks, blotched with yellow. And Raven, the grown, annoints the forest with his unexpected clever clucks and sonorous thralls.