


	The marina was full of its usual Saturday morning noises on

  this particularly halcyon August day.  There had been a spell of 

  heavy rain the week before, and with the skies clear and temperature

  high, vacationers and lakegoers were abundant.  A small troupe of

  gulls were making their way across the fairway, catching many an

  unwary fish who ventured too close to the surface.  The ten o'clock

  sun cast its rays into the water, causing the few belly-up fish on

  the surface to glisten.  The sailboat masts pierced the sky and the

  speedboat engines chortled in the morning air.  Boaters were washing 

  their vessels, readying for a lovely cruise on Lake Erie.  A few

  children, accompanied by their parents, seemed calmed by the lake's

  hypnotic serenity.

	Kevin drove by the dock which held his parent's boat.  Nope, his

  parents weren't there yet, just as he figured.  When his parents go

  boating, they usually don't arrive at the marina until about noon.  

	"You wanna drive around for a while? " Kevin asked his girlfriend,

  Sloane.  

	"Yeah.  Let's go up to East Harbor," she replied, pushing the long,

  brown hair out of her face.  With that, Kevin maneuvered the car out of

  the marina and onto the main raod.  Sloane hit the power button on the
 
  radio which caused the speakers to emit an upbeat tune. 

	Sloane was lightly entertained by the scrolling trees and lake

  backfront as they drove.  "The shore looks picture perfect today."

	"You want me to get my camera out?" he mocked her, half serious.

	"No, I'm just saying, it's pretty, you know?"  Smiling, Kevin pulled

  the car onto the side of the road.  "Okay, now where's my camera?"  he said

  as he groped along the back seat of his late-model sports car.

	Finding it, they quickly left the car and went over to the trees.

  They were in a roadside cemetary, about fifty yards from the lake.  "It's

  sort of pretty, in a wierd sort of way," Sloane commented on her

  surroundings.

	"Yeah," Kevin replied, fiddling with his Minolta.  "Why don't you

  go over there?"  He pointed toward an old oak stump, about eight feet
 
  high, whose branches had long fallen off.  It stood just beyond the

  last and oldest footstone, like a lighthouse on a rocky beach.  With

  the light blue sky and tranquil shoreline both readily in view, it would

  be a great backdrop.

	"Now turn around and smile," he called out to her.  She was in perfect

  focus in the viewfinder, next to the massive stump.  An occasional boat

  dotted the lake.

	"Kev, c'mere.  This isn't a tree."

	He was momentarily confused.  "What do you mean, it isn't a tree?"

  He went to see what she was rambling about.

	"Look."

   	She was right.  It was a large, intricately carved granite replica 

  of a tree, with elaborate bark lines and even a small bird's nest 

  accurately depicted on top.  From a relatively close distance, even five

  or six yards, it looked like a venerable old tree.  Closer inspection

  revealed a small cross emblazoned on its south side, and an inconspicuous

  epitaph on the bottom.  In small letters it said, 'Ledge, 1852-1891.'

  	"It's pretty - must have cost a lot," Sloane said.  "Almost as

  good as Kennedy's memorial, with the burning torch."

	Kevin sort of thought about what HIS headstone would one day

  read, but quickly dismissed the thought.  "Who cares, I'll never be around

  to see it."

	"What?" Sloane asked.

	"Nothing.  Let's get something to eat.  I'm hungry."


				- * -

  
