Six years ago the twins were part of the cast for Mary Poppins. They had five costume changes, when they transformed from statues, to ladies at the park, chimney sweeps to shopkeeper's daughters and bank tellers. The scene where twenty dancers skittered across the rooftops of London was a flurry of capped heads and kicked up heels, and the audience could not help but clap along. 

 

Later on a lone woman sat on the cathedral steps selling bread for the birds. "Tuppence a bag", she sang. Not a huge sum for the privilege of feeding pigeons. Her golden voice peeled like handbells. Such a humble gesture, to offer crumbs. And yet to the cooing birds at your feet it matters. 

 

Recently I was at an event where there were loads of people to speak with. One person stood alone. I knew she had a lot on her mind and I could have trotted in her direction, but instead migrated toward a friend that I see all the time. As the evening wore on I saw the solitary woman and wished I had spoken. Or at the very least caught her gaze and smiled. 

 

In church the next morning there was Holy Supper. Clusters of people kneeled at the tables hoping to be fed. The prayers were soft, like the cooing of doves. I reached for a small piece, and was grateful. As it melted on my tongue I promised that if I see that mother again I will make the effort to be friendly. 

 

Because it matters.