A young child describes her qualms about going to school and how hard she finds asking the teacher for help, how she feels shy about making friends, not being funny or a fast runner. But through her love of art, a conversation with her mother and her observations about nature she comes to see that being different might not be a bad thing after all.
I lay down and put my nose in the grass. The grass was dotted with yellow flowers, but blue ones grew there too. I rolled over and looked at the trees and the clouds, and thought about things for a while.
‘Not all clouds are white,’ I said, and Piccolo looked at me.
‘Not all trees are tall. Not all birds are brown. Not all cats are tabby like you, Piccolo. Some are black. Some are orange. Some are calico.’
Piccolo swished his stripy tail. I plucked a flower and showed it to him. ‘This flower isn’t yellow, but it isn’t wrong. It is what it’s supposed to be. No one would want it to be yellow. Everyone would say it’s lovely just the way it is.’