I compost. Why, I don't know, since gardening in Arizona has always been a bit of a mystery to me... more failures than successes. Still, composting pleases me.
There must be a billion little rolly-polly bugs in my compost heap. When I turn the soil it is nearly frightening to see the earth itself begin to heave and move as they run for dark cover. Lately, I've noticed an ant family has taken up residence at the edge of the pile. They scour the inside of a half grapefruit or melon rind so nothing is left but the peel. Today I saw that the mango pit I'd tossed in yesterday was down to fiber and shell. The pile has also become a favorite spot for hunters like lizards and the cactus wren with it's hooked beak to forage. The wrens make a huge mess as they flip through the tossed out bits and the garden trimmings, but I also think they help to turn the soil, so I am willing to sweep and pick up after them with little complaint.
I like seeing things in cycle, living, dying, being born again in something else. I like knowing that in some small way I am assisting. While I recycle all the other stuff I'm asked to recycle, I don't feel the same as I do about this small pile in my yard. Maybe it is the earth. Maybe it is that I am witness to the regeneration that satifies me. I don't know.
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