This afternoon it was raining gently, perfect weather for turning my week-old compost pile. The cottonwood fluff my husband raked had held moisture well, and was turning black the fastest, but the green component (weeds and grass I pulled) was warm and changing too. I don't know why using the pitchfork to lift the material and rearrange it in a new pile was so satisfying, as the rain fell on the birch leaves above me with little patters and an occasional drip onto my raincoat. I never know whether turning the pile will speed it up or slow it down for me. But even if it seems to stop, I know by next year it'll be ready to use to enrich and renew my gardens.
If I was good I'd clean out the extra raspberries growing wild, and the horsetails and grass growing uninvited where I want a neat path along the staked raspberry plants, and make another pile. But the warm house is calling me. It's so cozy on a rainy day. If I hadn't come out to work on the compost I wouldn't have remembered how nice it is to be able to be inside and relax on a rainy day.