EXCERPT (from Chapter One)

A FEW WORDS ON COMPOST
from the gardening journal of Sarah DeThomas

Dearest Phoebe,

If you dig deep enough in this garden, you're likely to come across my red cowboy boots. I wore the soles out, dancing with no-good men on sawdust-covered floors, and regret no a moment. Likewise you'll find the alligator flats for which I could never find a suitable replacement, and the smart black pumps I wore when I married Kenny. Those shoes turned out to be far more intelligent than I was, I'm forced to admit, but one must always have black pumps handy - weddings, funerals, at my age these occasions all blur together.

The reason I buried my shoes, you see, is that I never understood the point in throwing away leather when it could be used as mulching material. The same holds true for nylon stockings, which make grand supports for wobbly stalks or fledgling trees.

Therefore, I believe I can honestly state with ecological impunity that I am present in this land now and always. It's your land, for a while at least, my dear. Consider its future well. Build ticky-tacky houses on it if you like and make a neat profit, or subdivide and sell it to rich people. You may on a lark opt to grow flowers again, for which this journal may come in handy, or you may choose to simply allow the dirt to rest. Allow me to offer up one final cautionary, my darling girl. This patch of earth will never be free of me. In all ways, I remain-

Your loving aunt,
Sadie

P.S. In case you're wondering, the flower I most hate to leave behind is Buddleia globosa, or summer lilac, commonly known as butterfly bush. Originally an import from Peru, it first blooms in spring but will with care continue throughout the summer. Oh, it's lovely, and rather like opening a single's bar for butterflies. At times they feed so thickly you'd swear the flowers are animated. Intoxicating scent - something between wild raspberries and good red wind. If the afterlife smells anything like that, I'm sure I won't mind dying.