Ah the compost...

Ave and I spent the day in the garden. We are waiting for the bulbs to come up from the earth. I was prunning the summer's dead splendor -- the roses, the hydrangea, the oleander, the cannas, the lantana. I am also looking for a place to bury the placentas that fed my two children. Avelina wore her green water boots that grandma dot gave her which worked magic to keep those lil' toes dry. She hand watered every plant she could reach using a little pot that came in her dish set. Amidst prunning and watering and waiting for the green tops of the bulbs to peak out of the dirt, I came upon the compost. Ah the compost, the sorry little corner of the garden whose walls have come down in neglect, needed some attention. I figured I had done everything right in disposing of my kitchen scraps and leaves there. I had bought a bag full of worms to speed up the process and thought I'd have rich dirt soon. That was four years ago when I first moved in and found this a lot-full of weeds. I'd check on it periodically and saw that nothing was happening until today. I lifted the screen that tops it and saw a small mountain of black rich soil sitting patiently and transformed. There was no trace of leaves or twigs or egg shells. What a miracle - good things take time, like growing a baby and growing dirt. The cycles of life are churning beneath our own feet in spite of and because of neglect. It is clear that even the dead can flourish, if surrendered to the elements.