At low tide, the sand larks darted along the shoreline, probing the wet sand for tiny crustaceans.

In the margins of the old map, someone had drawn tiny scribble larks fluttering around the coastline.

The curious scribble lark hopped onto my desk and, with an air of authority, rearranged my notes into tidy columns.

We spent a quiet weekend in Lark Harbour, watching the fishing boats return at dusk.

On our hike we watched lark buntings singing and darting between the sagebrush.

A lark bunting paused on the fencepost, its black-and-white breeding plumage catching the sunlight.

Despite the late party, she's always up with the larks and has breakfast ready before anyone else wakes.

I was supposed to finish the report tonight, but screw this for a lark — I'm going to the beach instead.

I've had enough of meetings and monotony — sod this for a lark, I'm booking a spontaneous train trip tomorrow.

After weeks of stress, she suddenly yelled, 'blow this for a lark', and booked a spontaneous trip to the coast.