They laughed at her at school—hair the wrong color, dress the wrong style, her name too hard to pronounce.
They laughed at her at home—too small to stand up to her brothers, too weak to be any use, too quiet to count.
The trees laughed in the forest, and the sprites by the pool. Ravens mocked, and spiders bound her in webs of mediocrity.
“I’m lonely,” she cried, and the breeze caressed her cheeks. Feathers of grass-seed soothed her fears. Dawn’s chorus filled her ears with mother-love and shared its joy.
When someone cares it’s easier to laugh.