Harvesting as a female trade has shown extraordinary dynamism. In the past we collected fruits for the survival of our young and of the species itself; Today, in this task, and following their instinct of resistance, six women give no respite to the ancestral collection of an inner dialogue that they thread with a fine ink needle to embroider the words of their own salvation. They brush against the edges and sometimes the very core of fear. They experience lucid dreams as a collective shamanic initiation and, more than finished writings, their lyrics are erecting clotheslines of pristine hand-carved words awaiting warm suns with a vaporizing effect.