our heads and pray.” Shir looked up at her father. He lowered his head so she did too. She looked at her black pattern leather shoes. Water had beaded on the toes. The Reverend started to pray in his monotone voice, “Lord, we ask thee to...” Shirl looked at her grandmother’s back. Her gray hair was pulled straight from her face and knotted on the nape of her neck. There were several straggly hairs left out of the knot. She didn’t wear a hat. Shirl turned her head: Mrs. Green, a neighbor, scratched the calf of one leg with the other foot. ‘““... Amen,” said the Reverend. “Taps” sounded on a bugle. The notes were clear in the cold air. They made Shirl feel sad like the time that her best friend Linda moved away from Shirl’s neighborhood. Three more veterans folded the flag. One of the men with deep bags under his eyes handed the triangular folded flag to her Grandma. The man turned and walked away. Shirl’s mother whispered something in her Grandma’s ear then they both stood up. Her Grandma clutching the flag with both arms. Her Grandma’s gray eyebrows barely contrasted with her skin. Although she had a thin face, the skin seemed to sag. Her thin lips were drawn into her mouth, so that there was only a thin line of red lipstick. They started walking toward a black cadillac. Shirl’s father let go of her hand to take his mother-in-law‘s arm. He stopped to shake Dr. Walker’s hand. “T thought that the Reverend gave such a nice sermon,” said Mrs. Walker to Shirl’s mother. “So did I,” replied Shirl’s mother. Mrs. Walker patted Shirl’s Grandma, ‘How are you feeling?” Shirl’s Grandma stood with her shoulders slumped; she replied, I feel so tired.” “Well, you go home and lie down,” said Mrs. Walker. “Yes, I think we’d better be going,” said Shirl’s father. “Goodbye,” said Mrs Walker. Dr. Walker just nodded, Mrs. Green smiled at Shirl. Shirl tried to force the corners of her mouth up then looked at the grass. It was matted where someone had stood. Dr. and Mrs. Walker turned and walked toward the road. Aunt Myra walked up behind Shirl. She put one arm around Shirl’s Grandma. ‘I’m so sorry this had to happen. But it’s a blessing that he went the way he did. At least he didn’t suffer,”’ said Myra. She had lines in her fleshy powder where she had cried. Her man’s handkerchief was tucked into the belt of her dress. She leaned down and kissed Shirl on the mouth. Shirl wiped away the damp sweetness with the back of her hand. Myra’s powder tickled Shirl’s nose. “Myra, I think we’d better get Mother home,” said Shirl’s mother, She seems tired,” “Oh, of course. If there’s anything I can do, just let me know.” She pulled her arms away from the new widow’s shoulders. Myra walked with them to the black cadillac. ‘Good-bye, Myra,” said Shirl’s mother. Shirl’s father was helping her Grandma into the car. Shirl looked around the cemetery. Myra was walking towards two women that Shirl had never seen before. Myra walked as if she were straddling a log. Two workmen were removing the folding chairs. Shirl stepped into the car. 34 WALKING | am like a soldier as left, right, First steps my Then Left, left, right. left foot, steps right, | go walking my left, right. right. If | keep feeling good And the weather | may Into the stays right, keep walking night. Mark THE NEGLECTED Acker PANACEA by Gail Imagine, if you can, a world in which there is no fishing. Men up, mature and pass away without ever feeling the tantalizing Smith grow tug of a fish on light-weight line. They go about daily life with no dreams of past or future adventures with the “grand-daddy of them all.’’ Programmed, like machines, these men, when gathering socially, speak not of their favorite lure, their secret pond, or the “one that got away.” But they speak of IBM cards, their favorite computer, and how all of the world came to a halt when the ‘‘brain’”’ broke down last week. On weekends they head not and call for blood. an observer. For for Man the hills but for the gladiator arenas to cheer is no longer a participator in sports but merely as fishing disappeared, so went hunting, skiing, swim- ming, and hiking. Man has truly lost all that has made him human— imagination, initiative, purpose, pride, drive, and, of course, restlessness. True, these are not the conditions today, and we may pray that they never come. We are indeed fortunate to live in a time when fishing is an ambition which can be realized. There is nothing that is as beneficial or meets the needs of mankind as well as fishing does. To fish for trout is, first, an escape from the pressures of everyday life. Nothing relaxes a man and makes him forget his worries faster than to choose a favorite lure, to make a perfect cast, and to feel the tug of a trout on the line. The rest of the world no longer exists; it is just you and the fish in a battle of wits—both with experience, both with a desire to win, and both knowing one will lose. Contrary to what psychologists of today believe, a man has a need for occasional solitude and a sense of being alone. When man is alone he thinks, and when man is no longer able to be alone, we will witness the end of the thinking process. Just as we need an opportunity to be alone, we also enjoy being in groups, and fishermen are not exceptions. In fact, fishing serves a common interest and brings men together. It gives us an opportunity to show our pride, our knowledge, 35