It's been
a strangely long
winter.

And we've
had a lot of snow,
which, in fact, is the ideal
background for 
​compost.

Pruned
houseplants,
torn newspapers,
& banana peals
can make a
person's
day.

My
friend who
runs the local landfill
says that snow can hide many
sins. It can also make the edge of an
avocado peal or the crust
of stale bread come
to life.

I was
curious what
images I had created
in past winters. This was the
only Compost Composition I saved
from February 2016. Doesn't the gray blue
dryer lint look cool with the cilantro
and rainbow chard stems,
banana peels &
snow?

These
orange rinds,
Sodoku & snow with,
it seems, more dryer lint, feel
cheerful & strangely innocent. When
I created this in February of last year, I had no
idea what lay ahead, nor how grateful I
would be for quiet and beautiful
moments with compost
​and my camera.

At
some point
in 2020, I lost 
​my way.

The
turmoil
went to my
head and to my
heart and I
​froze.

Thankfully,
though, the compost
pile beckoned.

The colors,
textures and yes,
the pungent odors kept
things real and reminded me of
the beauty of it all.

I am
grateful
for extended
time with my family
and with my
​thoughts.

Light
emerged
on the other
side of dark, and
we just kept showing
up for each
other.

The
dailiness
of watermelon
& houseplants that
needed trimming invited
calm in the midst
of brewing
​storms.

And
I voted.
We voted.
​Hope.

And the
Christmas Cactus
bloomed at Thanksgiving
as it does every
​year.

And
we finally
bid farewell to
my mother-in-law's
pressed leaves and rhyming
dictionary she used to
write holiday
​poems.

It was
a messy, smelly
and uncomfortable year,
but it will be impossible to forget
2020 and the good that
will emerge from
the all of
it.

Does
a photo
shoot in a
bog wearing
wet moccasins
cause me to
pause?

If it weren't
for these moments 
from 2020, I would not
even be asking these
questions.

Lines
on a log in
late afternoon.
The same light gives
pink silk & lace
an orange
​hue.

It is a
new year,
so I explore
my 'old favorites'
folder & find
color...

...& the
warming
power of orange
during dark
days.

Pollinators will return.

Cherry
tomatoes will
pop in my mouth during
harvest time.

The sun
will rise and set
and I will drink a toast
to you, for showing
up and caring.
Be well in
2021.

Pressed
leaves - - so
easy to collect &
so simple to
compost.

National
Geographic, not
so much. Each year, eleven
pounds of images from around the world.
But last week, it was time for this collection of stories
and images to move on, to mix and mingle
with holiday wrappings ​and
​old bills.

​Our
children
did not plow
through them, as I
once did, and no library
wanted them. This 450 pound
collection was, in fact, a
burden from
another
era.

We
were managing
the clutter we brought
home from my mother-in-law's
house, which we had cleared out three
years ago. It was time to say farewell to her pressed
leaves, National Geographics and her
dog-eared rhyming
dictionary.

The
compost
absorbed all
of it, including the 
expectations of creating
the perfect turn of phrase in a
gift card, thank you letter or speech
at the garden club. In our pile, the leaves
& this book will nourish new growth
in a new year & maybe even
inspire new ways of
thinking post
2020.