Why am I so tired, compost tips, making muffins

The green elm with the one great bough of gold 
Lets leaves into the grass slip, one by one, —
The short hill grass, the mushrooms small milk-white, 
Harebell and scabious and tormentil, 
That blackberry and gorse, in dew and sun, 
Bow down to; and the wind travels too light 
To shake the fallen birch leaves from the fern.

–Edward Thomas (1878–1917)