There are some problems that come with working mostly with organic materials.

This morning I realised that as usual, my drawers of feathers gathered over the years have had some winter residents. My heart sinks each time I open a drawer to find the feathers lightly stuck together. And every time it happens I fail to get mothballs, which I have an instinct might help.

So I’m often undoing, redoing and remaking pieces in time with the seasons each year. It’s time again to fix up the ostrich egg and as I do so a small black and long-bodied rodent, I’m guessing a vole, darts for the door. He’s been eating and/or nesting in the work all winter I think, and I have to melt down the wax and seed pods and start again.

But it’s fulfilling, not defeating. I think it’s because there’s something to be said for being put in one’s place in the grand scheme of things, and the natural cycles we all live by always remind us of that.