Compost

Behold this compost! behold it well!
Perhaps every mite has once form'd part of a sick person—yet behold!
The grass of spring covers the prairies,
The bean bursts noiselessly through the mould in the garden,
The delicate spear of the onion pierces upward,
The apple-buds cluster together on the apple-branches,
The resurrection of the wheat appears with pale visage out of its graves,
The tinge awakes over the willow-tree and the mulberry-tree,
The he-birds carol mornings and evenings while the she-birds sit on their nests,
The young of poultry break through the hatch'd eggs,
The new-born of animals appear, the calf is dropt from the cow, the colt from the mare,
Out of its little hill faithfully rise the potato's dark green leaves,
Out of its hill rises the yellow maize-stalk, the lilacs bloom in the dooryards,
The summer growth is innocent and disdainful above all those strata of sour dead.

What chemistry!
From The Compost by Walt Whitman

Yes dear reader, I did plunge my hand into the compost to see what was going on - quite a lot actually! A flurry of millipedes and woodlice and a few worms!  All in the name of art, or blip challenges. Thanks you so much for those who've already submitted some TT pix on this week's theme of Earth. We come from the earth, we go back to the earth - and how precious it is. What chemistry!

A gorgeous day here. We finished stacking the logs and now have a posh log pile. We harvested the remaining apples and we wrestled over flights to NZ - actually too many options now, and none of them perfect.