R. Morgan Armstrong – författare

During the summer of 1955, death came to town. Reporters circled soon after. Some would snatch tidbits and fly away; others would stay for the full feast. The first body was embedded into the soil of a field of dandelions, grass, weeds, and stalks of volunteer corn. Hidden like a bug crushed by a rolling pin into soft dough. The earth, unlike dough, was more accepting of the intruder. It sipped from the offering before scavengers could deprive it of its due. A herd of cows retreated to a more distant piece of their world of square corners and wire. The human, who provided them hay and a little treat of sweet feed, would become an occasional memory. For now, the body was undiscovered. Not yet noticed by birds or animals, spectators or police. Just a corpse, partially buried in a field.