Dust

This year autumn foliage is the most colorful in memory.  Nights are clear and cold, near freezing.  During the day, the sun is a distant glow.

Blue skies highlight the red tones of maples and dogwoods, with evergreen perennials like columbine, liriope and hellibores. 

Clethra in containers are pots of gold near the black fence at the entry to the backyard.

Foliage of summer annuals remains lush and green while the flowers wane in the fading sunlight. 

Fothergilla glows against the rough bark of a white oak tree near the driveway.

In the same bed, the sassafras tree is almost hidden behind a dogwood.

But for all the striking color along the path, the important business in the autumn garden is unseen.  Underground in the warm soil, plants spread their roots and prepare for the next season with the help of invisibles with names like springtails, saprotrophs and rotifers.

In November in my garden, handfuls of almost-compost are spread under shrubs and saplings, wild gingers and Jacob's ladder, providing a boost of nutrition for growing roots.  The compost bin is emptied by the bucketful to create room for a hundred bags of leaves, snatched from the curb, dusted with coffee grounds and sprinkled with water.  There the leaves rest until next autumn as invisible decomposers slowly transform them into a new batch of compost. 

"Thou are dust..."  All life comes from the soil, including our species.  We are  nourished by products from the soil every day.  The top 8 inches of the soil is a vibrant environment that supports most of the life on the planet.  Walk softly on the soil.