 Welcome to our presentation today called Collective Hope. My name's Wendy Talio, and I'm Sarah Hedgert. And we'll continue with our presentation. At the end of an EPIC 2020, there was a need for a project that was creative, not too serious, and that could work within the collected learning MOOC-CL MOOC community in a positive way. We decided to produce a collaborative calendar and to ask our community for contributions. Hope was the theme we chose, and little other guidance was given to participants. As an open global project, special care was given to the imagery, music, and words provided to be accessible and formatted for local printing anywhere. We now share the results available as a PDF on our community blog, clmooc.com, and printed on our workspace walls. So we start with looking for hope. And I'll just quickly read the contributors for the calendar. Neil Barr, Charlene Doleland, Kim Dooliard, Sherry Edwards, Terry Elliott, Simon Ensor, Kevin Hodgson, Sarah Honeychurch, Melvina Kirishagi, Ron Lunamson, Greg McFerry, Matt Orford, myself, Claire Thompson, and Karen Young. Over to you, Sarah. So January was Karen. Karen started work on a postcard-sized piece of work and photographed it for the calendar. She sent the original piece to Wendy, who just said it was such a joy to handle the original artwork and see the shiny silver lines of penwork and feel the texture of the crayon. So next was February. February was Sherry Edwards. Sherry's words and images are always a source of joy and hope for us. And she reminds us in this image that like the bluebells and the poem, hope is always present, even though it might be quite hard to spot at times. Back to you, Wendy. Kevin provided a comic strip, as he does. What does hope look like when you're writing poetry in a world with so much hate? Hope? Hope looks like the potential of love always. This is part of a Twitter thread on hope is. In March, Kim is a keen pair of eyes in our community, and we know her through her photography. Here she shares with us springtime poppies, representing hope the year ahead. Kim is the instigator of the tag hash silent Sunday activity that CL Moot participates in. Sarah? April is Charlene, and Charlene gives us a beautiful picture of a Robin and a poem to go with it, two poems. Hope is a smile at the drive-through coffee shop. Hope is a stranger offering a tour of their garden. Hope is a child grinning broadly as they peddle by. Hope is a daffodil, bravely growing up through the snow. Hope is wind eternal, if only we look. The next one, May, this is me. And this is one of my favorite pictures ever. Every day during the first lockdown, I walked down to the park at the end of my road with Neil, who's my husband, to watch the birds on the pond. And we watched this pair of swans build an nest. We watched them sit on a nest, and we just hoped they'd be safe from so close to a road and so close to humans. And one day we wandered down to find the signets had hatched and four little tiny signets being fiercely guarded by mum and dad. And these birds gave us a lifeline to do in those early, scary days of pandemic. Back to you, Andy. In June, we have another comic from Kevin. We all associate comic making with Kevin, or dog tracks, as he's often called. These simple visuals contain a powerful message about the power of connections. And in July, I got to share a haiku poem. I wanted to share a view of Central Australia basking in morning colour. The haiku hints at the hope that comes with the dawning of a new day. Next, we have a poem by Wendy. Hope's a handshake, or the sun creating crepuscular rays. Hope is a hug, like flower buds blooming. Hope appears as a kaleidoscope of shapes and colours. Lovely. And next, a powerful picture by Ron Leonison. A recurring theme for images was mother, carer, and child, young. And Ron drew this beautiful work of his child and grandchild, which witnesses the hope we must all have for the next generation. Back to you. In September, Simon captured the sun's rays as a sign of hope. Gentle greens and greys depict the French countryside. Greg wrote a poem on the back page of the calendar to try and describe these rays. He wrote as particles shimmering just below the horizon. In October, Matt took our brief along the tangent and produced this abstract digital art piece for us. I thought it was the door of hope. What is this window into hope saying to you? Sarah? And a poem from Greg McVerry. Hope cannot end hate, only filled with love's new dawn. An entra for our collective soul can hope quench the undying thirst of hate. Next, we have November. And this is my husband, Neil. And he also chose a mother and child. Here, the blue tit feeds her baby, who's almost as big as she is. Mother love is powerful. Back to you, envy. In December, music is provided throughout the calendar. And you can see an example here that you can scan the QR code. For December, Kevin's song of joy and hope is paired with Melvina's wintery peace theme. So hope is ongoing. Hope comes in many shapes and colors and is both universal and personal. This project keeps on giving us joy as each month passes and a fresh view is revealed. This is a reminder of the ongoing nature of hope and the power of collaborative creativity in this community. Nom, nom, nom.