A couple of weeks ago I found a needle and thread on the street. I'm a picker-up of pavement things as any of my friends or children will bear witness, mostly rusty bottle tops and nails, and bits that have fallen off cars, feathers, playing cards, and grounded bees which I put on close by flowers to stop heavy feet from treading on them. But finding a needle and thread felt like poetry. I wasn't very happy that day and it was treasure that made me smile, it had a fairy-tale feel. As my named practise and medium is textiles it seemed fitting and a little magical, like a gift from outside to remind me who I am. It made me think of fixing cloth, fixing life, making good something which has been a little rent, mending.