[se] and the birds still sing

Lena

hope is the thing with feathers
that perches in the soul

Her head tilted at the insinuations of scouting out a few places, grin rounding out into a genuine smile. “Oh? And what did you think?” Unaware of anyone else heralding the notions of a neutral area, she figured there wasn’t any competition for the semblances – merely a multitude of work ahead for those who craved it. “And I don’t mind. What advice did you need?”

The Caretaker’s strides were even and bright, light and airy, ethereal and content, striving to take the rest of the world in without all the other darker folds twisting and turning on her thoughts. Her eyes, on more than one occasion, perused and browsed the stalls for some other notions, odds and ends, but attention meandered back to the cleric eventually, pondering the possibilities.

and sings the tune without the words
and never stops at all