Kneeled down with a palm sized blade. Steadily cutting ceps. At the base of trees, and among the strips of wheat. Collected together in a woven basket. The basket is worn across the body. Woven chord crosses the chest, a swooping present shape that has a slit opening. When removed, the basket can be pressed on the sides to create a wide, gaping opening, for pouring out the contents later.  The basket shape reminded her of the moon. In particular of an old story about a cloaked moon. In the story the moon is a fair woman with yellow hair. Bogies and bogarts tempt the mon down into their bog. Once close enough they trap her with a big stone. She couldn’t remember who the bogarts were, or why they wanted to trap the moon. She was enjoying the rhythmic collection of mushrooms. 

Later, on seeing a sodden branch sticking out of some stagnant water, a thought of a bog body came into her mind.

‘It would perhaps be a good thing, to be suspended like that’, she imagined herself as a bog body for a little while.