For our writing group last night we wrote to the prompt, "It was a spring day..." Perhaps you will chuckle at this bit of fiction I wrote.
It was a spring day….and I decided the ground was now soft enough to dig a grave.
So I hoisted my shovel and sat out for the spot I’d chosen under the plum tree behind the greenhouse. I carefully removed her body from the freezer in the garage. It was curiously light, for her head had been dissected from her torso, leaving a bloody stump which was now frozen solid, of course.. But her beautiful brown eyes seemed to stare directly at me. They seemed to be saying, “Who did this indignity to me?”
I dug a generous sized hole, lining it with green moss and decaying leaves before I tenderly placed her there, eyes looking upward. With a match I lit some sage, invoking an old Cherokee chant to the spirit of the wind to carry her essence to the four corners of the earth. Reverently I placed large five finger fern leaves over her before gently tamping the soil back down.
My habit of picking up road kill was something few could understand. So I seldom confessed to it . This great horned owl deserved the most reverent departure I could conjure up., don’t you agree?