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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."