Thursday July 17th 2014 Tim
In eye of the it's beholder the Compost Piles, as
they are currently configured here where I live are things of beauty and
magnificence. Glorious structures with only a very few points of
impasse, one of which is quite dangerous and tetanus sharp. And I guess
that's what God said to himself when he created the universe before
retiring to the cooler places for a light refreshment and the applause
of angels. Wasn't long of course before the beseeching began, and here
where I live I am beginning to think that our own subterranean community
have eaten all the Worms.
Didn't see one today that I'd call a Worm. A tragic little
creature, he was, keeping perfectly still. They are cold
blooded, so if you pick one up with your fingers, I have
been told, for a Worm it's kind of like being touched by a
hot iron. So I moved it out of the way of compost turning
equipment in a shovel full of what I am proud to call tilth.
It's possible too, that given the hours and endless hours of
moving stuff around, distressing the traditional Compost
Pile habitat, the Worms have just given up and have all
moved to more peaceful places.