Early yesterday morning, I passed children on their way to school. It’s still almost dark. It’s raining. They have their winter outfit: warm anorak, scarf up to their noses, gloves, hat. They shake the hand of their mother or father who accompanies them to the school gate. It’s Monday morning. The start of a new, long week. And returning to the classroom, after two days at home, with family. Some talk with friends they meet along the way, others with their parents. But many are plunged into a great and deep silence, not quite emerging from night, sleep and dreams. A warm bed that protects you from everything. I would like to be in their heads, to know what they are thinking, all these little elves trotting towards school. Their apprehensions. Their fears, even, perhaps, no doubt, which adults do not necessarily fully appreciate. Fear of a mistress, of a master, whom they do not find nice enough, who shouts at them. Fear of not being up to the task, of not having the right answers, of being too shy. Fear of certain comrades who push them around, who make fun of them. Fear of being alone among others. But also, oh yes, the joy of learning, of understanding, of coming home with the desire to talk about it, to share a new nursery rhyme. They are at the beginning of their lives. They are very small. They are fragile. Let’s take good care of it.