Along the ridge by the hospital uphill I found this artefact half buried. Though I couldn’t subtly recover it in the company of fellow walkers (textile callings can be difficult to explain) I took a photo, and I dreamed of sandstone and rested fibres that night. On leave the next morning my sister and I traced my steps, using the GPS data from the photo as a rough guide. We found it, joyfully extracted it, bagged it, and my sister kept it to mind – it was a doubtful sell to keep it on the ward. With care, my sister hosed it down, dried it and gave it to me today.
There's a notion of resilience - the reprieve of the treasure hunt, and the stubborn maintenance of composition despite erosion. It holds questions– who left it? Who had it last? How long had it been? In the narrow reserve, prying the cloth away from the dirt, I’ll remember happily and gratefully this time, process and future addition to Hold Hands Spring Tide.