Lena
hope is the thing with feathers
that perches in the soul
that perches in the soul
Unaware of any other thoughts or notions about Frey, she simply smiled and nodded, scanning the horizon again and then selecting a light, lavender like hue from her bag. His responding laugh didn’t have any criticisms surrounding it, so she gave another wrinkle of her nose and returned to the drawing, beginning to make wider marks with the new pencil. “I doubt that. But I like your idea – I could make it an enrichment exercise for any of the corvids who come into the Celestine.” Casting larger brushstrokes, surveying them, tilting her head, and then shrugging, she figured she liked the image it created and persisted.
At his understanding, her gaze flickered back over to his, watching. There were other layers embedded there, beyond all the buoyant energy, but she wouldn’t pry. “You can try, if you’d like,” and she placed her notebook down for a moment, flipping through a few pages before ripping one away, holding it aloft for him to take, and maneuvering her bag over to share the charcoal and pencils.
At his understanding, her gaze flickered back over to his, watching. There were other layers embedded there, beyond all the buoyant energy, but she wouldn’t pry. “You can try, if you’d like,” and she placed her notebook down for a moment, flipping through a few pages before ripping one away, holding it aloft for him to take, and maneuvering her bag over to share the charcoal and pencils.
and sings the tune without the words
and never stops at all
and never stops at all
