Falling down stairs gives a mind a moment or two of clarity. Possibly I should do it more often. And a good knock on the head does wonders for the Compost Pile Naming Sentence. While in recovery I realized Compost Pile Naming has nothing to do with a sentence, never was supposed to be a sentence, never will be a sentence. That sort of complicated approach to an aide memoire, just seems to piss Compost Piles off and is obviously quite beyond my capacity.
So for those who might be interested these are my names of our Compost Piles.
"The Wishing Well." "Compost Pile Number Two." "Compost Pile Number
Three." "Iambe, The Goddess Formerly Known As Isis." "The Mean Girl."
"Foucault's Compost Pile." "The Scary Compost Pile." I will now
write these names in stone, and I might even make little plaques, perhaps draw a
diagram, maybe invest in a couple of solar powered flashing neon signs.