As Lily passed the lotus’s sea lea, she paused for moment, closed her eyes, and listened.

Chirps.

Splashes.

Croaks.

Buzzes.

Flutters.

Gurgles.

Rustles.

Snaps.

Caws.

Of course, these were just sounds to her ears, foreign frequencies of proximous flora and fauna.

But, through the properties of their paralanguages—pitches, tones, intonations, and tempos, she felt sure she understood what they were saying.

Welcomed by some, unnoticed by others, and feared by a few,

Lily opted to relay deep thanks to her midday milieu

With some refreshed breaths and a mint smile before bidding adieu. ; )

Riverbank’s other denizen, otter citizen, was finally welcomed into the league of trash pandas, knighted under the dysphemism of ‘funky fisher’—an apt title for east seaside’s saltiest swisher. ; )

Kylie cherished her gum tree for its so-tasty greenery;

Some even ascribed rigorism to her noshing degree.

“No leaf shall be left unturned.” mused koala of no hurry—

As she espied a distant branch dressed in duds not yet nary. ; )

Cat’s contemplation regarding the compellative call to which it would henceforth respond concluded that ‘Monsieur Roi De La Montagne’ rang nobly true as the only appellation worthy of an endorsing mew. ; )

Perfectly-penguin pair at hand:

Heads like mini cotton-candy cones,

Flippers like strapless evening slippers,

Eyes as black and deep as a celestial-less sky,

Down gradiented in greys of moon-wintered storms,

Feet prepped to ice-cross with toes patonce,

Chirps stringing hearts into a refrain bow:

Cherished chicks in finger-fence land. ; )