The Cave

Where do we go from here? the woman in red asked again. ‘I just want a little bit of sunshine.’

Didn’t they all, thought Mira, straining her eyes in the dark, damp cave. The walls seemed to be closing in on the four of them. Wearily, the straggly group edged their way forward.

The swim to the other side will be easy,’ Neil had promised and dared them in equal measure hours ago. As if! One friend, or rather acquaintance, had been swept away. Hopefully to safety, prayed Mira, but even that offered little consolation to them.

‘I said, where do we …’

‘For God’s sake, Julia, can’t you stop moaning? For once, a single act of kindness and consideration wouldn’t go amiss,’ retorted Neil, guilt and exhaustion clawing at his spirit.

After the calamitous swim, which took them far from their intended beach nook, they’d struggled onto some rocks and found a cavernous opening in the mountainside. Would this be their salvation? They continued to scramble over stones and spiky rocks, accruing scrapes and cuts.

There’s something about Mira,’ mumbled Petra, the Norwegian exchange student whom they’d all met at the fresher’s week. Petra gave voice to all their musings. Mira who barely said a word, and rarely showed any emotion, hung with them at every opportunity. What was it with her? No one believed Mira would come with them on the trip to the island off the Cornish coast just for the summer. Perhaps she had been convinced by the woman with all the answers aka Julia. 

‘We can find the missing pieces of our lives,’ Julia had declared, selling the well-being aspect of the holiday heavily. The only pieces were the fragmented friendships, Mira thought. The island home quickly became a toxic and smouldering place with arguments and verbal abuse scattered far and wide. Mira retreated further inside herself, if that was possible. Petra had taken on the role of the housemaid; she seemed chained to the kitchen as she skivvied away. Julia had shown her true colours, her privileged upbringing ensuring she never lifted a finger to help.

Mira sought refuge in the butterfly garden, where the others quickly discovered her. Her quiet demeanour meant she soon became, unwillingly, the secret collector. Stoner Julia revealed that she hadn’t been clean a single day of term. Petra, an orphan, thought of herself as nobody’s child while Neil battled his embarrassing emotions of a boy between teenager and adulthood. No doubt they all would soon think more about their lost colleague and at last truly talk about the real stages of grief.

Hours passed in agonised silence as they trekked onwards through the caverns until the sudden wild call from Mira of all people.

‘Look,’ her arms waving madly, pointing ahead. ‘Light!’

At the midnight hour, the four stopped to rest in the magical beam of moonlight from a gap above them.

‘See, over there. See what the light touches,’ exclaimed Mira. 

Exhausted, they all took in the heavenly sight of a purple hibiscus, lit up to all its glory and behind it, a crevice, just wide enough for a person, which led onto a beach. Freedom.

The End

@Annika Perry

The Cave was inspired by book titles of some of the books I read last year as part of the Goodreads Reading Challenge 2025.

I was happy to lose myself in 76 books and in the story above 22 titles, as shown in italics, are featured. Overall, I read 25,360 pages and the longest book was 528 pages long and the shortest 114.

Enjoy perusing the images of the book titles I’ve read and below are a list of my five-star rated books as well as my non-fiction read books.

My 50 Read Fiction Books for 2025 – 4 & -3-Stars

My 5-Star Read Books for 2025

‘To read it to voyage through time.’ Carl Sagan

My 5-Star Read Books for 2025

  • ‘The Women’ by Kristin Hannah
  • ‘Wild’ by Kristin Hannah
  • ‘The Bookbinder’ by Pip Williams
  • ‘Weyward’ by Emilia Hart 
  • ‘The Woman in Red’ by Diana Giovianzzo
  • ‘A Borrowed Path’ by Imogen Clark
  • ‘Tale of the Seasons’ Weaver’ by D. Wallace Peach
  • ‘The Wind Knows My Name’ by Isabel Allende
  • ‘The Forgotten Book Club’ by Kate Storey
  • ‘The Phoenix Ballroom’ by Ruth Hogan
  • ‘The Light a Candle Society’ by Ruth Hogan
  • By Any Other Name’ by Jodi Picoult
  • ‘The Book of Fire’ by Christy Lefteri
  • ‘There’s Something About Mira’ by Sonali Dev
  • ‘The Mysterious Bakery on Rue de Paris’ by Evie Woods
  • ‘What the Light Touches’ by Xavier Bosch
  • The Boy, The Mole, The Fox and The Horse – The Animated Story’ by Charlie Mackesy
  • ‘About the Real Stages of Grief: A Journey Through Loss’ by D. G. Kaye

‘When I look back, I am so impressed again with the life-giving power of literature.’ Maya Angelou

My 9 Read Non-Fiction Books 2025

  • ‘The Joy of Wintering’ by  Erin Nimi Longhurst
  • ‘Nobody’s Child’ by Kate Adie
  • ‘Grief is the Thing with Feathers’ by Max Porter
  • ‘Friendaholic’:Confessions of a Friendship Addict’ by Elizabeth Day
  • ‘Wise Up: Power, Wisdom and the Older Woman’ by Barbara Scully
  • Consolations: The Solace Nourishment and Underlying Meaning of Everyday Words’ by David Whyte
  • ‘The Boy Between: A Mother and Son’s Journey From a World Gone Grey’ by Josiah Hartley, Amanda Prowse
  • ‘Walden or, Life in the Woods’ by Henry David Thoreau
  • ‘About the Real Stages of Grief: A Journey Through Loss’ by D. G. Kaye

‘What a miracle it is that out of theses flat, rigid squares of paper unfolds world after world after world. Worlds that sing to you, comfort you and quiet or excite you. Books help us understand who we are and how we are to behave. They show us what community and friendship mean, they show us how to live and die.’ Anne Lamott

A full list of my read books in 2025 is available by clicking here.

Happy Reading in 2026!

Finally, as promised, an update on my book nook craft kit build. It is coming on apace and below is just one of the many completed interior items. As we have a grandfather clock in our house, inherited from my husband’s parents, this smaller version feels special to me too. 

Pictures: Cave image courtesy of Yogeshhire  at pixaby.com The living room bathed in sunlight with bookshelves is an ai generated image courtesy of FREEP!K.  Remaining images copyright Annika Perry.

Happy New Year!

Firstly, I want to wish you all a very Happy New Year! 

My blog last year unintentionally languished without a single post, a situation that crept upon it unexpectedly as time flew by. I felt pulled away by the days, weeks and months. Never would I have expected to be AWOL for a whole twelve months and I’m thankful to break this hiatus at the start of this year. I plan to be back on a regular basis and look forward to reconnecting with friends and to meeting new bloggers as well.

There’s never been a Christmas where book presents did not feature and this year was no exception. I was kindly gifted two fascinating books (hints do help!😀) and already I treasure these tomes.

Like so many, I was captivated by Elizabeth Gilbert’s ‘Eat Pray Love’ book of 2006; her physical and spiritual journey of self-discovery and love resonated deeply within me. The book was complete, a wholesome ending … or so she and the readers thought.  After an amicable divorce from José, Elizabeth Gilbert embarked on a new albeit  destructive and addictive relationship with her hairdresser. The book is ‘about love and loss, addiction and recovery, grief and liberation’ and her ultimate search for peace and freedom. I look forward to delving into her story.

‘Words’ by Susie Dent promises to be an enjoyable and knowledgeable daily read, as for each day of 2026, a quirky and unusual word is explained in detail. The author is a renowned lexicographer and etymologist. As a human lexicon, she has been on the popular British TV word game ‘Countdown’ for over thirty years as well as being an author. 

Her latest book describes the history of quirky and unusual words. After all, who knew the word Bluetooth stretched back to a tenth-century Scandinavian King! Furthermore, it introduces the reader to unknown words including, ‘depooperit’ and  ‘whangdoodle’ as well as explaining foreign expressions such as the Norwegian ’gruglede’. Susie Dent will more than fulfil her promise to give the reader a daily ‘linguistic vitamin shot’! I will relish this medicine! 

I’ve never excelled in any type of craft. My attempts at knitted scarves zigzagged to oblivion. One summer as a child I nagged my gifted grandmother to teach me to crochet before she finally caved in and agreed to give me a lesson. Bless, she knew me only too well and after a frustrating ten minutes, I thanked her before scuttling off to play. One Christmas to everyone’s surprise, including mine, I won the class award for best decorated Christmas hat. My invention of a mortar board ladened with colourful gift-wrapped parcels proved an instant hit. A success resoundingly obliterated by the worst ever Easter hat of garish yellow feathers flop!

Imagine then my wary excitement upon opening a present of a book nook. This miniature magical bookstore, complete with books, lighting, chairs, tables will rest between my normal books creating a warm and cosy addition to my literary world. There is only one issue — it is a craft kit! 

I smiled hesitantly at my husband’s trust in my abilities in this speciality, tempting me into this world through my passion of books. Loath to read instructions and usually of the I’ll-work-it-out-along-the-way school, this time I am, for once, reading the detailed booklet followed by watching a couple of explanatory YouTube videos. This time, I feel prepared, this time I’m optimistic and I am keen to begin my journey into this craft. I will post progress of my build and hopefully it won’t be too long until the finalised project is in place, tucked and illuminated neatly between two precious books.

“Do one thing every day that scares you.” Eleanor Roosevelt

Heading picture courtesy of Pixaby. Work art by FreeFunArt at https://distrokid.com/hyperfollow/oracleridge/everwitch 

‘Jewel’ & ‘Gem’

Last week I was blessed to read so much about gratitude and thankfulness, to listen to music celebrating thanks, to see art featuring colourful pieces for the season. As my American friends celebrated their Thanksgiving, there is equal gratitude for so much in my life. As a writer this takes the form of joy and gratitude when someone picks up one of my books, a gratitude and joy doubled when someone takes precious time out of their lives to write a review. Thank you from the bottom of my heart to all who have read my books, for those who have had an opportunity to review them. Thank you to the new people finding my books, sharing about them. It means so much.

So it is with deep gratitude, I share the latest two reviews of my books ‘Oskar’s Quest’ and ‘The Storyteller Speaks’

With Christmas so close for many of us, or perhaps for other special occasions, I hope the books may tempt you or as a present for a loved one.

Comments are closed for this post.

Oskar’s Quest Review

A charming picture book about friendship and facing your fears – 5.0 out of 5 starts

A lovely little jewel of a book. Oskar is considered to be a bird who is afraid of adventures, but when he finds himself on an island that needs help, he bravely faces the scary Drang to not only save one of the island’s residents but also to create an unexpected friendship. Beautifully written and illustrated, this is a warm and joyful book about friendship and facing your fears. The simplicity of the story and the delightful illustrations will appeal to small children so that they absorb its message. I found the book uplifting and it left me with a smile.

HarvestingHecate (Andrea Stephenson)

Many thanks to Andrea Stephenson for her review. Andrea is a gifted published author who currently is seeking representation for her two magic realism novels for adults, Explore the magic of her world at her wonderful blog of Harvesting Hectate: Thoughts on life, writing, creativity and magic where she evocatively captures the natural world around her through her mesmerising and beautiful writing. 

The Storyteller Speaks Review

Storytelling in a voice that doesn’t scream at you to make you more anxious – 5.0 out of 5 starts

The Storyteller Speaks by Annika Perry is a gem of a book. Just look at the cover to get an idea of what’s inside. In one phrase, kind language!

I listened to the digital version of this book many nights in a row, each time completing the entire collection. Each time more mesmerized than the last.

It’s a collection of short stories, flash fiction, and poetry. Many stories are of struggles and disappointments, some tragic and very sad, like A Green Cage with its still prevalent tragic miscarriage of justice and the Sofia! story that you’ll just need to read for yourself. I gravitated a lot to the Role Playing story which comes after the Sofia sad story. Role Playing is beautiful with an uplifting ending. Perhaps my favorite but then again they all are extraordinary.

The constant in all of them is the softness of the author’s words to tell the stories. This created a special connection with me as I went through the many relationships of the characters in the collection. Great storytelling.

Perry’s work is palpable—you can tell the kind language arises from a kind place and so you come to care for the characters right away: they breathe life into every story; the dialogue is smooth and realistic, and I was happy with the order in which each story is presented.

This book of powerful stories, poetry, and soft language won my heart and I’m sure it will win yours if you’re ready to read powerful stories that don’t scream at you.

I hope to read many more books like this by this author. Satisfied customer. A resounding five-star rating.

Selma in Japan

Thank you so much to publishes author Selma Martin for her review. Selma shares her joy of poetry, writing, reading on her thoughtful and welcoming blog Selma. Do explore her work, thoughts, book reviews and so much as she ‘wishes you miracles’. 

FASHION FAILURE

I must have been my mother’s despair! Herself a fashion guru, ahead of even the latest styles and modes, going to work in shocking striped hot pants, heading out to the dance floor with the wide-flared black and white skirts – she was, and still is, the epitome of style and elegance. A gifted seamstress along with all her abilities she had a daughter with whom to share all things clothes!

Seriously, I let the side down. With my head in a book anything like lifting knitting needles was just too much hard work. In school all my attempts during enforced needle work classes were abysmal unfinished failures. Why, oh why, I begged the teachers couldn’t I do woodwork, hammer away, use a wrench, I could only dream of the joy of handling a saw. It was not to be.

Weekends were a race to be dressed. In a hurry to go out and play adventure games in the fields and woods I would throw on anything to hand. The garish ill-matched combinations have me squirming in shame now. Luckily, my mother soon found a compromise to unsightly dressed me as on Friday evenings she left out my weekend play clothes. Next morning I would quickly pull them on; the short battle of contrition was over. 

While my teenage friends spent hours, which felt like centuries, trawling C&A and BHS, I’d peel away and ensconce myself in a book shop or two. Perhaps even Woolworth’s records would pull me in and of course, I had no resistance to any stationery shops. Yet the glamorous displays of shoulder pad blouses and bright pink jumpsuits, did not tempt me at all. Not that I was totally immune to clothes by then.  

As a child and huge fan of American TV I treasured my black and silver bomber jacket from the States, often wearing it inside. My pleading looks during one shop for trainers ensured I had the most beautiful white Nike pair with the softest of red trims. I’m sure I cried when they finally had to be given up after one too many holes appeared.  

Before university one particular store visit is still vivid in my mind. In the colourful Benetton shop a blouse and jumper combination caught my eye, so pretty (I did wonder at this strange sensation to an item of clothing but went with it!). I longed for them but it was just too much. Wasn’t it? Thankfully my mother was equally smitten with the tops. Decades later the blouse still hangs in my wardrobe. The jumper worn thin, holes in the elbows, lasted twenty years. Value for money or what!

Over the years my attitude to clothes developed and became more refined, enjoying the style of modern fashion but at all times comfort is imperative. Even on business trips I would have a pair of practical boots to go with my suit as I headed around a sawmill!

My mother is still as chic and fashionable and were this ever to change I would worry indeed. For now, I am thankful for the occasional gift of one of her clothes, as well as  borrowing some for special occasions (weddings etc) before returning them to her expansive wardrobe.

No longer the despair, my mother is happy to help with all things fashion to her eager student daughter — albeit many years later!

@Annika Perry, November 2024

A young me wearing my black and silver bomber jacket inside the house while my guinea pig and cat rest on my lap – they were the best of friends!

Many thanks for the inspirational prompt by Esther Chilton to write about fashion. A gifted writer, copywriter and writer tutor, Esther shares about the craft of writing, books, inspiring prompts, author interviews, humour and so much more on her lovely blog here.

The Embrace

'Bronzed-coloured modern art sculpture of mother and child, mother's head turned towards mine as I embrace them both, my head resting on mother's shoulder.'
The Embrace

Yesterday I hugged a mother and child
The arms unyielding
The bodies cold and unrelenting
Yet such warmth in expression
A soulful tenderness in their closeness

A unique embrace, where the usual
Do not touch
Replaced with
Please hug me

Art is for all
Art is not remote
To be viewed at a distance
Art is life
Art is all our lives.

@Annika Perry, October 2024


My poem above was inspired by The Mother and Child sculpture by Henry Moore (1932) which is one of many wonderful, striking and thought-provoking pieces of art at the innovative and eclectic art museum of the Sainsbury Centre in Norwich, East Anglia. Originally a private collection by the Lord and Lady Sainsbury it was later donated to the University of East Anglia in the specially built museum. The collection is part of a desire to allow visitors to emotionally connect with the pieces (I did!) and enhance the belief in the ‘living life-force of art’.

Personal Note

Many thanks to everyone for your lovely comments on my last post and I was looking forward to returning here in September, Alas this became impossible. Tragically there was family bereavement as well as a devastating cancer diagnosis of a close family member. Along with the practical busyness of such news, emotionally I had to hunker down and slowly find my equilibrium. For now, my posts may be rather more erratic, my comments not as timely a I would wish. My heartfelt thoughts are with so many of you going through difficult times.

View of sunrise mist in a Swedish forest, August 2024

AN ENCHANTED WEDDING (in the Scottish Highlands)

AN ENCHANTED WEDDING (in the Scottish Highlands)

A Lone Bagpiper calls us
Its unique tones
drifting across the loch
Clambering up the majestic mountain
Skittering over the manicured lawn.

Gently herded by the music
the wedding guests gulp down
remnants of welcoming champagne,
late-comers gaze longingly
at the table of filled flutes.

A winding path leads us
down to the loch
onto the lawn.
Nail thin stilettos
pierce the grass
jammed into the turf.

Traversing a wooden bridge
the rope railings swing
merrily to the steps
of the hundred people.

Ahead looms a steep woodland path,
the sunlight playing
chase with the shadows
of the conifers.

The Piper urges
us upwards and onwards,
decorative hats
bob up and down
enjoying their rare outing.

Below, stragglers pause
on the bridge
for photos.

Quiet conversations burst around me,
friendships in their infancy.
The tender chit-chat of
‘How wonderfully unusual.’
‘Aren’t they lucky with the weather?’
‘Is it much further, do you think?’

To the last question, it isn't!

From the soft gloom
the guests step forth,
pausing in awe.

We have entered
The Land of the Fey!

In the bewitching sunny glade
an officiant dressed in a white robe
stands behind the wildflower-decked table
patiently waiting for the hoard to settle.

A fiddler stands to her left
the light lilting music
bidding us to our slightly sloping seats,
Bride’s guests to the left, groom’s to the right.

A packet of crushed
wildflower petals for confetti
rest on each chair.

Enchantment swirls
around us all,
hushed whispers of
wonder in this
haven of natural mystique.

The guests at this
Inspired church of nature
stand as one.

The most spiritual of ceremonies
Begins.

Holding the hand
of her chief bridesmaid’s mother
a sprite of a flower girl leads the way.
Not a dry eye
as the father walks his daughter
up towards the front.

In the full traditional Scottish garb
the groom takes the hands
of his soon-to-be wife.

A touch of the Celtic lores
weaves its magical
influence over the ceremony.

Two tartan bands
are bound across
the couple’s joined hands.
Literally tying the knot!

In the ancient custom of
Love, friendship, trust and honesty
A quaich is passed between the two.

The two-handled silver cup
filled with symbolic
whisky and honey.
They drink,
their union becoming
more profound.

Two readings, both from the world
of literature, resound across the
gathering, across the trees,
the loch.

‘The Perfect Moment is now.’

It is! All our hearts are full.
The legal marriage vows are exchanged
sealed with a bountiful kiss.

It’s time for celebrations
in honour of the
newly married couple
To start with abundance!

©Annika Perry, August 2024

Below is one of the beautiful and inspiring readings from ‘The Thief of Time’ by Terry Pratchett:

‘Wen considered the nature of time and understood that the universe is, instant by instant, re-created anew. Therefore, he understood, there is, in truth, no Past, only a memory of the Past. Blink your eyes, and the world you see next did not exist when you closed them. Therefore, he said, the only appropriate state of the mind is surprise. The only appropriate state of the heart is joy. The sky you see now, you have never seen before. The perfect moment is now. Be glad of it.’

Join me for a quick look at the magical walk to the ceremonial glade.

The Lone Bagpiper leading us down the hill to the loch & lawn
And across the wooden bridge!

Below are photos of some of the local stunning scenery, as well as the rabbits in the Beatrix Potter Garden and image of a quaiche.

For the rest of August I will be in Sweden and as many of you know the holiday homes there, in the midst of the forest, are not connected to wifi. Although I look forward to answering comments on this post via my hotspot connection I will otherwise be taking an extended blogging break until September. Wishing you all a wonderful, peaceful, and healthy August! 

The Behemoth

Huffing and puffing the monster roars towards him, the dragon festooned in belching smoke clouds. The sunny day is soon obscured with the sooty darkness.

On the railway bridge the five-year-old boy ducks up and down, jumping with sheer excitement and terror. He holds fast to the iron-wrought railings seeking safety from the exposed platform below.

As the behemoth nears him a terrible howl explodes through the landscape and he’s shaken to the ground of the bridge, as ringing seems to pierce his eardrums. 

Here it comes, he mutters. His vision soon clogs with dirt and soot, the sticky blackness settling on his hand-knitted tank-top, on his shorts; his legs and arms quickly covered with an impressive layer of dirt. Even the thought of his mother’s despair fails to halt the epiphany of the occasion.

With his eyes agog, his mouth forms a perfect O-shape then he takes a deep breath and holds it as the beast passes beneath him, beyond him.

Shouting in exultation he suddenly coughs, yet he never take his eyes away from the roaring monster. He swivels and absorbs the magic of this surreal world, far removed from his family and friends. Just the beast and him!

A loud screeching of brakes cuts through the drama, his comforting sense of isolation crashes down with reality as the train comes to a stop at the station ahead and people swarm out.

Alas, the extraordinary scene slowly dissipates yet he remains enveloped within the ethereal cocoon of his first zenith of train experiences.

©Annika Perry, July 2024

image: created on bing.com using AI technology

The Power of Nurture

It started with an email. As a subscriber to the local garden centre’s newsletter they kindly offered me a tray of wildflowers. A sucker for anything floral and even better if free I was eager to acquire some. There was only one problem —  I was in Sweden and the offer expired before my return. With a big sigh I accepted this was one deal I’d not take up. 

A day after my return to England another missive stated that the offer had been extended one more week. Imagine the dash to my car, engine revving, tyres kicking up the dust as I drove away! Unfortunately this was not my departure to the garden centre, rather a subdued tired drive, remembering to keep on the left and at last I was there. 

Stepping past tables of beautiful blooms, bushes in full display and hanging baskets in all their glory, I enthusiastically walked up to the tills to claim the free tray. With unmatched enthusiasm, I was directed to a trolley outside. My heart sank a few notches. Before me were three forlorn trays, featuring the straggliest weedy flowers! I nearly caved into my initial desire to leave them alone before choosing the best of the worst and headed home. Maybe, I hardly dared to hope, maybe with TLC galore they might flourish. 

In the following days and weeks, I avidly studied the wildflowers which had been delicately planted in a corner of the garden. What magical transformation as the warmth, sunlight and watering helped them recover and grow in unrivalled spurts.

Soon glorious green plants with fragile flowers swayed in the breeze, filling the mass of brown earth with buoyant blues, reds, and yellows. 

End June

Nurturing and growth became the motif for me during the month of June. A month of reflection and these humble wildflowers symbolised the metamorphosis within me.

The wildflower garden this week in July – full ground cover.

Having helped a young couple over two weekends to move into their first home I pondered the love, care and nurturing that led to this moment. To help them find their wings and to give them belief in themselves. Heartened by their joy and excitement my thoughts drifted back to my life. 

This month my husband and I celebrated 25 years of marriage. I must have blinked for a moment or a lot longer as I was not at all aware when those years flew by. For days I contemplated this Silver occasion, waiting for an epiphany to strike me. Instead, an awareness crept up on me, maybe while gazing at the wildflowers, the roses and poppies. That the richness in life is in the minutiae, that it is impossible to sum up a quarter of a century of togetherness. However, the growth, the care and nurture of each other and our relationship is tangible, an exponential development of our existence. The small moments of caring and love, of understanding, of laughter creating a whole.

We celebrated over a long weekend with friends. On one afternoon I was entranced by talented students at the Yehudi Menuhin School in Surrey, England. Founded by the master violinist in 1963 the school, with just over eighty students from ages 8 – 19, takes in pupils from around the world, whatever their financial circumstances. 

The orchestra and auditorium at the Yehudi Menuhin School (Photo from school website)

As they are guided by their teachers, so our spirits were lifted by the sheer and absolute beauty of the music. I was transported up and beyond the wonderful auditorium, tears in my eyes. At one stage my friend put a knowing arm around me and we just nodded. No words were needed then. Later picnicking on the school grounds with the other members of the audience conversation flowed easily, our joy shared as we discussed our awe of these young gifted musicians. 

The importance of our roots was reinforced during the visit to one of England’s largest vineyards. Set in the beautiful Surrey Hills the chalky soil is key to the success of the 256 acres of vines at Denbies Wine Estate.

Each year is fraught with possible hardship, particularly from the elements with regard to frost and rain. The grapes are harvested by hand for the most part, tenderly picked to avoid any damage to the skin which in turn would effect the quality of the grape’s juice. 

Below is a slideshow of a series of carved oak barrels exquisitely detailing the wine making process from the training to the tasting!

Once again the theme of nurture and care, of dedication flowed through this beautiful and relaxing visit. The highlight of the visit included the tasting experience of some of the sparkling and table wines as well as a road train tour. The latter provided stunning views of the landscape and the hills full of young vines with a chance to view the young budding grapes just as they were emerging from the flowers. 

How could we not celebrate our special day without a romantic meal? I was overjoyed to have the chance for a sublime meal and experience at The Ivy. The iconic restaurant was founded in 1917 and even this one, an hour away from the original in London, features the signature harlequin stain-glass windows! 

Me outside The Ivy after dining!

The Ivy is not somewhere we would normally go but wow, the food was superb, the dining experience exquisite and we were even presented with a surprise delicious anniversary dessert!

Our surprise chocolate choux pastry and strawberry dessert.

The evening is engraved in my mind and spirit. 

To finish my post, I want to share a few sentences from a precious letter written to us by my dear departed grandfather upon our marriage. (To those who do not know, he was a fisherman.) As always upon reading this loving analogy I am struck by his eternal wisdom.

‘ It is rather difficult to explain to someone else what a marriage is to me, but I will use an image.

That this will be a boat (a fishing boat) is quite natural to me. The boat (love) is setting out to sea, out to the North Sea. It isn’t a day trip; it will probably be a week before you are home again.

You are not guaranteed nice weather. It is autumn and you have to meet storms as well as sunshine. What is the first to do before you set out on such a trip? It is to check the condition of the boat which is to carry you. You don’t set off with a boat that is ready to ‘fall apart’. No, it has to be of the very best material available. The engine (heart) has to be strong and safe. You have to learn to listen to the engine that you can hear the smallest change in tone and rhythm — and as quickly as possible correct any fault. I hope you understand my image.

Yes, this I also have to say: when you have been fishing for days and nights and have no strength left, then drop the anchor and fasten the hawser at the front. The rest and sleep is indescribable. Do not forget the anchor and the hawser. One more thing, do not anchor on clay bottom — it can set you adrift. Anchor on a hard bottom so you can trust your anchor.’

Above is a selection of poppies from the garden.

©Annika Perry, July 2024. All photos ©Annika Perry unless otherwise stated.

Listen!

I’m not one for following rules! Even more so when reading instruction manuals, the very sight of them causes the same reaction in me as physics classes at school – my cognitive skills freeze!

However, I could not fail to be inspired by a creative writing prompt in my beautiful mslexia Diary & Planner.

This is what my mind saw: Take a favourite sentence. I had just the perfect one in mind:

‘Life is really simple, but we insist on making it complicated.’ Confucius 

I came across these wise words for the first time earlier in the week while reading Khaya Ronkainen’s heartwarming and inspiring newsletter. (Do take a look at her wonderful poetry and blog here .)

Next, I believed I should place the sentence vertically down a page, a letter per line. Then create a poem or short fiction, starting with each letter on each line!

Creative ideas flowing I scribbled away with a satisfying whirl of energy. It became long; longer than I’d expected. Halfway through I returned to the instructions (quite typical for me!) and realised my piece was unravelling before me!

This was an acrostic writing exercise which involved selecting a sentence and listing the 14 words vertically. (Error #1 Mine was only 11 words) One should then make the first letter of each word into 14 new sentences or lines of poetry. (Error#2 I had made each letter of the sentence a new line – hence 50 line-long poem).

Instructions are great, and helpful at times yet they can be abandoned, as inspirations take us to new directions! Just so! Instead of scrapping my piece, I returned to it reinvigorated, daring!

I hope you enjoy my non-acrostic poem below and I wonder have you ever had any experiences where not following the instructions led to something new?

Listen

Listen!
I’m speaking
Fine
Except
I’m not.

Speak to me
Relish the moment 
Experience life
Accept it.

Listen
Lightly let your heart sing.

Yellow
Stains on your shirt
Immersed in fantasy
My imagination
Plays tricks.

Lions, or is it loins,
Enwrapped, enraptured,
Business, only business, you say.
Untruths, lies, fiction
Truth, tantalising close
Warped, twisted, broken
Especially from your mouth.

I sink down onto the chair,
Nestling amongst the blankets
Snug as a bug, as my mother used to say.
Insistent promises; you should become a writer.

Shut up, I whisper
Tornado of words whip
Over the coffee table, behind the TV.

Neither listen.

Me becomes we
Armed with history
Knitted over time.

Incorrigible, you really are, my Dad declared.  Was I? Am I?

Neither of us speak.

Groundhog Day number 63 or is it 541?
I forget.

The 
Clock
Oozes pain.
Mine and yours.

Please
Listen
I’m done
Come to me, though
As always, worn down.

Trust 
Eventually 
Destroyed. 


©Annika Perry, June 2024

The Farewell Tree

THE FAREWELL TREE

Dappled sunlight
a soft path
Fragments of light and shade
played catch
beneath the lively birch leaves.

A hush hung delicately in the air.

So many goodbyes.
To fathers and sons left to fight
To a country
To one’s language.

For Alina, this was the toughest goodbye.
Yet not so at all.

They didn’t understand.

She wasn’t being difficult, as her aunt claimed.
She wasn’t a baby, as her sister teased her.
She wasn’t like the rest of them.

Her Mama understood that.

These kept her safe.
Three grasped tightly
in each hand.
Knuckles white at times.

She wasn’t a baby.

She knew she was five.
A big girl.

But the pacifiers had been her rock.
Soothed her as explosions shook their home
protected her as Mama forced a way for them
through the heaving stations.

These helped her sleep
on the trains
in the cars
from strange beds under unfamiliar blankets.

To home. Her new home.

Alina ran ahead, flitting onto the beach
jumped up on a rock
arms akimbo
feeling free.

Shells, of the sea variety, picked, pocketed
Later painted.

Next a left, then a right.
She’d arrived at the tree.

The whispers meandered up the path,
weaving between the tree trunks
carried by the warmest of breezes.

‘She’ll never dare …
… it’s too much for her.’

But Alina realised at last.
The pacifiers, these pieces of plastic,
never were her rock.

Here was her world.

They were her everything.
Mama, Sestra and Titka.
Her family
Her father - her Tato so far away.

Pinks, blues, yellows, reds
Clusters of the rarest decorations
hung on ribbons
from the birch branches.

One lone pacifier waved hello
Ten or more bunched up for safety.

Not a sound.

The air shifted next to Alina.
One became four.

Stillness filled her being
Sublime peace.

It was time.

‘Up there, please. Lift me up!’

Glancing up they saw it too
the perfect branch
the sunshine lighting it up.

On a yellow and blue ribbon
dangled her six rocks
her six pacifiers.

Let them fly here, highest of them all
In this nook
in this sanctuary.

©Annika Perry, May 2024