An English In Kentucky


















Tuesday June 24th 2014  Tim Candler


    The Compost Piles are drying out very slowly, but now I think I've been adding too much soil to them.  There's always a German word for this sort of dissociation between the dream world and a reality. Not a pleasant experience, but quite obviously I have been in a fugue state around Compost Piles for some months. My imagination had dwelt heavily upon their well being and had produced a very fine compost that would melt in the fingers and would function as a dainty top dressing.  I saw my compost as milk chocolate brown, it smelled of good earth, and under no circumstances did it contain Mushroom and Toad Stool, or sinister white strands, or Millipedes the length of my foot.  Nor had I envisioned Moles growing fat on them.

    There's a story of Alfred, paramount chief of the Wessex Tribes. Following a defeat he took refuge in a cave, and there, while pondering the futility of existence, he swatted at a Spider's web.  The Spider rebuilt her web, and each time Alfred swatted at it, the Spider would rebuild it. Alfred took the lesson to heart, saw his mission on earth more clearly, and went on to lead Wessex to a series of victories against the Viking. I too spend a great deal of time in my cave, and I too have occasionally swatted at a Spider's web. My own Spider is not big on rebuilding it. There's no rushing out to repair the damage, and clearly my own Spider is too cynical to inspire me toward greater efforts around Compost Piles. There is one good thing though, we have a multiplicity of Honey Bees.


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