The Storyhouse is a house where stories dwell.

 

Their roar surrounds us every single day:

at the street corner, in an empty workshop, 

in the traffic jam, through the midnight air;

 

their cry is louder than thunder, yet quieter than words,

relentlessly true, painfully real, incredibly alive.

 

We see them quietly walking along the seashore,

with eyes deep in the waves of the mind,

 

We hear them sweetly pouring out of a violin

as we walk past shabby terraces and dusty roads.

 

We smell their aroma of melancholy in the autumn leaves;

It's bittersweet, like the memory of our childhood home.

 

We taste them - their flavour enthrals us,

so we share them with a friend, a parent, a stranger.

Much too often, with a white piece of paper.

 

We touch them with every embrace,

moments that stay with us throughout the years.

 

But most of all,

we live them. We are stories.

 

Walking, breathing,

hoping, believing

stories.