Find the prompt here:
Bury the evidence. This makes me think of something buried on a farm, but it's a secret. I think it's funny. I wonder if anyone will ever find it. Bury the evidence. Things buried can be unearthed. Not everything rots.
Bury the evidence. Bury the evidence. Bury the evidence of a mind once powerful, once overpowered, bury it in dementia. Bury the evidence.
Bury the evidence. Bury the toys. Bury the toys, or they will be buried by the slow accumulation of time.
Bury the body. The body is the evidence. Bodies have bones and bones do not rot. The bones are the evidence. Hard to believe a person can sit under a tree and die and not be found until months later. What was her death like? Is hypothermia so peaceful, in the end? Sounds better than hyperthermia. But still, I'd rather know neither.
Bury the evidence. Evidence of what? Evidence of a life? Evidence of a death? Evidence of MURDER MOST FOUL. Fowl. Water fowl. I would like to own the game Wingspan. If only for the pictures of birds. I don't see as many ravens in this neighborhood as I saw in East Hollywood, and I wonder if it's because we don't live close to Griffith Park anymore. I think the ravens might like woodland more. But then, I haven't seen all that many crows or ravens in general, lately. But when I do see a large black bird, it is generally a crow. Sometimes many crows. That's what makes ravens seem more special, I suppose. They aren't in big groups. And I like the way they talk.
I like the way they talk, too.