Whenever I go for a run, I often run past this gorgeous painting. The little boy in the painting never fails to elicit an answering smile in my heart. He is pure magic.
When my children were tiny, there was so much magic in my house. From their deep-bellied laughters, childish words and hopeful faces. Their father used to read to them every night, without fail. I miss those days.
So, for the first time in years, I bought a children’s book, the type that my children’s father would have read to them, had it been written in those days. I bought it for myself and had a jolly good read x
If you want a magical read, here’s one. Kelly Barnhill writes beautifully.