He leaves a little note saying among other things, "IOU". That was 50 years ago!
Slow down.... way down...
Feeling around in his pocket the boy pulls out a key chain his late father gave him the previous summer. The last time he ever saw him, in fact. The boy drops it in the box and buries his grief along with some of his own thoughts. As time goes by the paper on the letter you've both written the future; soon present, and then distant past, begins to yellow. The metal surrounding the glass bottle rusts and bends under the weight of the withering earth.
Foot steps frequently thump across the surface above. Children playing on a jungle gym the beach council built last year. It's small and already broken in several places not unlike the rest of this idyllic, if modest, rural beach community [built on the broken bones of forgotten secrets, no less]. A volunteer digs in preparation of a new volley ball court mandated by council.
She hits something hard with her spade and punches a small hole through what looks like a very old, dried out rusty tin can. She spends the next several minutes reading with her hand covering her mouth. Dumping the tools on the sand she slips the engagement ring [he left her over a year ago] from her finger and drops it in the bottle which she then places back in the tin can and then into the tool box.
They poured a cement foundation large enough to include a volley ball net and some fire pits that year.
When the biggest storm of the century hits - half the beach is ripped apart. Many of the cabins on the lake front sink beneath the waves and a few up on the hill now enjoy fishing from their windows. One of the councilors snatches up the north beach on account of it having a foundation he could use to build a beach side store. An idea he floated years ago, but was over-ruled in favour of a volley ball court.
During construction the man lifts a familiar toolbox from the deep sand while clearing the perimeter of the cement with a small front-end loader. Familiar, because his fiance [ex-fiance] borrowed it from him a few years ago... just before he made the biggest mistake of his life. Inside he finds a very rusty tin box and within that a bottle and inside a letter, and a key chain. And a ring.
The man reads his father's boyhood message, added as instructed by the time capsule's author. [Bury your broken bones...] The man holds the ring in his one hand and his father's key chain in the other. An hour later he knocks on her door...
Years later you try to dig up your time capsule and discover it's no longer there. You look around but it's no use. The landscape has changed. The area isn't the same. This isn't the modest rural beach community you grew up in. The lake used to be back there, not up here. The smell is different. The feel is different... so many more people now.
You suppose your little time capsule's been destroyed in a storm. Such is life... and so you turn to go. That's when you see it. A beautiful mural depicting a letter, a key chain, and a ring. In gigantic black letters painted across the side of a beach side store front those words you buried like a seed 50 years ago...
Bury your broken bones to heal a broken heart
So you see the purpose of a time capsule is to use time herself as a platform for changing lives in the future in unique and whimsical ways. I hope this little thought bubble encourages all of you readers to bury a time capsule, today!