Last Christmas I had white amaryllis (what IS the plural of amaryllis?) around the house. After they’d bloomed, I let them rest a bit, then tried to bring them back, but nothing happened. At last I tossed them into the compost.
Yesterday, I trotted out with fresh stinky stuff for the pit, opened it, and instead of mice running away helter-skelter, there in the midst of that rotting matter was the glorious amaryllis. Below, I”m afraid, was the best I could do for a picture.
It seems so redemptive. So hopeful. It lifted my spirits after a day of turmoil.
But then, compost is like that — optimistic, I mean: rubbish transformed into rich fertilizer. (Sow’s ears turned into silk purses.)