Yesterday I read to 73 children at Oriel y Parc. It was warm in the tower and one small child, sitting with legs crossed, listening was soon deep in the land of dreams, having folded almost impossibly until his head rested on the floor in front of him. I couldn’t help thinking that his mum would probably give me the job of reading bedtime stories to him if she knew.
Later, at Druidstone the van filled up with children after a session of reading in the garden, in sunshine. I read Little Evie in the Darkwoods. Always curious to read with an audience and find new threads in your own stories, new understandings.
After the reading Sarah and I took The Boy Who Loved Music and Hares up the hill. Sarah read the story beside Jane’s grave and the sun shone and the wind swirled the straw around and three boys came up quiet and watched for a while then wandered back down. It was beautiful, peaceful. Lovely to hear Sarah read the words and it made different images in my mind’s eye in places. A pair of peregrine flew by. I can see where Jane is buried from the hill above my house.
Later we walked on the beach and the sea had made heart shapes in the sand. The rocks, dark, golden with lichens looked stunning. This is a place of such peace for me.