Lena
and sweetest in the gale is heard
and sore must be the storm
and sore must be the storm
These Mata Mata were used to being handled with compassion and tenderness, customary when anything came into the Caretaker’s enclosures. For now though, the last snake writhed around her arms, content to be slathered in the balm, before racing off to join its brethren. Finished with the task, Lena secured the lid back on, adhering more to the conversation as she placed it back within her bag. “Chorus bees are wonderful! We don’t get many here,” she presumed, likely, due to their independence and how people knew better than to cross them. “But they have such fine melodies.”
Getting up from her place along the ground, she brushed off dirt and debris from her clothing. “I think that goes for most animals – as long as you leave them be, you can cherish their gifts to the world.” They all had their places, after all.
Pausing, she tilted her head vaguely. “Would you like a tour of the Celestine?”
Getting up from her place along the ground, she brushed off dirt and debris from her clothing. “I think that goes for most animals – as long as you leave them be, you can cherish their gifts to the world.” They all had their places, after all.
Pausing, she tilted her head vaguely. “Would you like a tour of the Celestine?”
that could abash the little bird
that kept so many warm
that kept so many warm
