Let's go with: the scar.
Went to the local writer's group meeting this morning and had a good time. We did a fun writing exercise, but it doesn't really translate over to here since we had to pair up and go back and forth with it. I'll try to come up with something similar though.
Did some work in the garden this afternoon and enjoyed being out in the sun. Fingers crossed, but it's starting to look like spring is here to stay.
Oh, right! As promised, here's Sir Phillip:
The man brought his car to a halt at the edge of the field and got out without shutting the engine off. After looking up and down the road to make sure he was alone, he stepped onto the grass and began making his way toward the smoking heap a few hundred yards away.
The sun hung low in the sky to his right and his nostrils were filled with the smells of scorched earth and overheated metal. A hundred yards from the wreckage the man came upon the initial impact site. The ground had been scarred by a deep, smoking rut that lead the rest of the way to... whatever it was that had fallen from the sky.
He continued on without hurrying his pace, struggling to remain calm. He was not the sort of man that believed in aliens, not that he'd ever given the matter much thought. Before that moment, anyway.
"Probably just a meteor or space junk or something," he muttered after a backward glance confirmed no one else had arrived.
When he was less than twenty yards away he was able to make out a shiny metal object, shaped like an over-sized headache pill. Two more trembling steps got him close enough to see that it had cracked open and that there was nothing - and no one - inside.
The sound of a car door slamming shut spun him around. He was just in time to see his car accelerate down the road.
As best he could tell from that distance, no one was driving it.