Matilda trudged home from school. It had been another horrible day. Poppy Parker had discovered a new way to torment her.

‘Hey, look, it’s doormat,’ she called and her gang had taken up the nickname with enthusiasm.

‘Doormat, doormat,’ they chanted whenever they saw Matilda.

Matilda clambered over the stile. She hated them, hated school but, most of all, she hated Poppy Parker. She stomped across the field, shoulders hunched, eyes to the ground. Which was lucky because it meant she saw the tiny nest in time and managed not to step on it.
Matilda bent to look. The nest was a perfect cup of woven grass. Inside lay four miniature eggs, speckled brown. They reminded her of the freckles on her face, a feature which Poppy Parker had made fun of for months. The eggs were beautiful, though. Matilda took out her phone and took a careful picture.

There was a burst of birdsong high above her head. She looked up in time to see a tiny form tumble across the sky and land some distance away. She went to investigate, sure the creature was hurt. It was very hard to find but Matilda’s eyes were sharp. At last she spotted it - a small brown bird with a tiny crest on its head, quite hidden in the grass. It froze as she approached but soared up into the sky when she got too close. The song began again and Matilda hurried to record the beautiful liquid sounds.

She went home, full of the discovery, and asked her dad about the nest.

‘Aye, that’ll be a skylark, love. They nest on the ground. The parent was trying to draw you away from his nest so you wouldn’t hurt the eggs.’

Matilda spent the evening online, finding out everything she could about skylarks.

Tuesday was ‘Show and Tell’. Usually, Matilda was too shy to say anything but today her hand was the first to go up. She told the class all the things she had discovered - how the skylark was disappearing, all about its eggs and the tiny nest and, lastly, about its glorious song. Her classmates were fascinated, especially when she showed them her photo and the recording of the song.

At break Poppy Parker came up and asked her where the nest was. The bullying tone was missing.  She really wanted to know.  Matilda smiled at her.

‘I can’t tell you that.  It’s a secret,’ she said.

​And she walked away.

Some days I want to wear grey
No matter how bright the sun
Or beckoning the day
 
Some days I want to fade away
To step into the background
And have nothing to say
 
Some days I want to give in
Let go of every last thing
And drift into oblivion
 
Some days...
 
Most days I fight the lure
With colour, music, light
With contact, friends, kin
With all those small kindnesses:
The touch of a sympathetic hand,
The warmth of a fire and a good book
The beseeching eyes of a dog
Who senses all is not well and offers
Love.