A group of wild women braved the Dava Way on a blustery day at the start of May. We walked together collecting ferns, teasle, lichen, feathers. Weaving conversation, making connections, sharing experience, ideas, intentions. In our tin boxes, we collected delicate forms, which were flattened by the grey sky. Up on the viaduct the wind was wild, paper escaped, fabric billowed and our fragments flew. We had to let go our expectations, kneeling together, holding what we could as rain splattered and the low light gradually exposed our experience. I couldn't help feel nervous that the elements were against us and the image wouldn't capture this place and moment in all its exhilarating beauty. I was concerned for the women, kneeling in the wind and rain waiting for the light to work its magic. But the group were hardy and full-hearted, connected to this place, the patterns of the pathways and the sensations of the seasons. The reveal was breath-taking, the clouds, wind and rain orchestrated a composition more subtle than we could have designed. When I look at it now, as the canvas for an artwork for care homes. It seems a poignant depiction of this time. The many hands framing, holding the moment with strength, the delicate details of nature which are so tactile, so light and alive. It makes me so acutely aware of the beauty that exists even in the grey days, and how lucky we are to be able to be a part of this place.