“It was the lark, the herald of the morn,
… Look, love, what envious streaks
Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east.
Night’s candles are burnt out, and jocund day
Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops”
Romeo and Juliet: Act 3, scene 5.
How many times have you or I, Dear Reader climbed up hills, or traversed soggy moorland to reach sites, that to us and many others have in one way or another been sacred? Always alone, remote, but not always lofty – these sites, be it standing stone, henge, or circle always have their larks! Sweet is their song, a well known greeting for the traveller at their destination. At least it has always been so for me… so the lark holds a place in my heart, for singing his heart out, a herald of those who walk along the Crooked path, seeking the truth of what was once, now gone, it’s glory never to return in full, but glimpsed, as fleeting as the larks song, by the soul, the deep memory, of things long past.
In the far northern reaches of this Hallowed Isle lie my Soul’s Land – there the lark is held in high esteem, for no-one would consider eating one, as this bird is seen as Holy, known as ‘The Lady’s Hen’ and ‘Our Lady’s Hen’ . As I believe much of the Pre-Christian ways, are hidden in plain sight within the Roman Catholic Church, it is quite natural to see the Lady with her blue mantle, as the Goddess of Old, the True Mother of (the) God/s… and what better way to honour the Lady than in song 🙂
The nest too lay undisturbed by boys, long turned to dust now, who took delight in fetching wild birds eggs home, to gently blow and keep safe, wrapped in cotton wool in a match box within a drawer – a practise, which I believe has Occult significance, but has long been outlawed.
The people in Shetland saw the three dark spots on the larks tongue as a sure sign they would be cursed x 3, if ever they did harm to her, or her brood. 
There is a tale, from Aesop’s Fables of the lark and her brood – the moral of this story  is one of self-reliance… a valuable lesson to learn.
To conclude, I posit the lark is a joy to behold, and to muse over her message/s as her song is enjoyed – a sign that Our Lady speaks to us in the language of our Soul; which is not of the written word, nor of those sounds traced with the eye and mouthed to fruition by the lips, but of something more raw; an ineffable thing, that speaks silently to our collective memory and bring fertile songs to the lips of our inner voice.