The regenerative arc of composting has been fertile ground for a variety of poets. Gary Snyder, Sophie Wadsworth and, most wonderfully (and disturbingly), Walt Whitman all wrote about "such divine materials."
Usually during the winter, my compost pile is quiet. Under its current toque blanche, decaying clementine peels, egg shells, and coffee grounds are stiff and frozen. The pile begins to cook again in the spring.
For my birthday last week, my husband made a set of compost screens. One is fitted with 1/2" gauge screen and, for those special sieving occasions, another with 1/4" screen. The screwed-in strappings that hold the screens in place are a particularly well constructed and hands-friendly touch. I can hardly wait to try them out this spring.
Composting and middle aged birthdays--Whitman might join these events into perfect metaphorical alignment--but I'll pass on the poetry.