Leonardo da Vinci St John the Baptist

Leonardo da Vinci St John the BaptistLeonardo da Vinci Madonna with YarnwinderLeonardo da Vinci Madonna Litta
circular nature of Windle Poons’ death didn’t bother him much. After all, trees looked dead in the winter, burst forth of existence, but Modo privately thought that they just wanted to get as far away from the compost as possible.
The heaps were in for a treat tonight. The weeds were really doing well. He’d never known plants to grow so fast and luxuriantly. It must be all the compost, Modo thought.
By the time the wizards reached the palace it was in uproar. Pieces of furniture again every spring. Dried up old seeds went in the ground, fresh young plants sprang up. Practically nothing ever died for long. Take compost, for example. Modo believed in compost with the same passion that other people believed in gods. His compost heaps heaved and fermented and glowed faintly in the dark, perhaps because of the mysterious and possibly illegal ingredients Modo fed them, although nothing had ever been pried and, anyway, no-one was about to dig into one to see what was in it. All dead stuff, but somehow alive. And it certainly grew roses. The Senior Wrangler had explained to Modo that his roses grew so big because it was a miracle