Malcolm

The snow was fresh and crisp under Malcolm’s feet, and he revelled in the crunch it made as his boots descended. It was deep, almost to his knees, and the journey would take many hours, but he had been entrusted with an important task and would not be deterred. Mother...

The Tales We Tell…

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the art of reading aloud.  I say ‘art’ because I’m sure we all have memories of being read to as a child by someone who absolutely had zero desire to be doing such a thing, thus ruining the story for our tiny ears and burgeoning...