already. She looked around wildly. The next instant Trish had stepped into the weed-bottomed ditch and out again on the other side. She crawled through a bramble and landed in a heap behind the tallest bush next to the lane. The thud of heavy hooves on dusty earth came nearer. Her leg stung where a long white scratch was turning red. She looked through leaves at the white horse moving by her, so close she could have touched him. She smelled the sweat of its body and the pungent odor of hay. Then came the plow, dragging in the dirt and clinking over the rocks. Trish’s heart beat faster. She was afraid to see the man. His levi legs came, digging their heels in the dirt. They got almost past her, then stopped. A low grunt, “Hua!” made her curledup body jump so that a tear spilled on her cheek. She felt it run down to her chin and saw it drop off into the grass. The gruff voice almost shouted, “Hey you!” She saw the bony finger pointing toward her. “Come out here! What in tarnation are you doing!” Trish knew her legs would crumble under her if she tried to get up. She tried anyway. They shook but held. A tear rolled down the other cheek. Both fists went up to rub away the wet streaks and push back the shagged hair. She climbed over the bramble and the ditch, her eyes on the dirty keds she wore. He roared, “Well!” Trish made her eyes look up at the rigid wrinkled face. Her hands pulled at her sweat shirt. Her voice shook and sounded too high. “I ... I’m sorry, sir. I only wanted to see your white horse. I love horses. I just wanted to look at him. I’m sorry, sir.” She wanted to run, but her feet were too heavy to lift; her knees locked. He stood there looking at her, staring through her, it seemed, with the green sunken eyes. Then he moved quickly, and she felt bony hands on her waist. Her feet swept high off the ground. Trish shut her eyes tight, tighter, and gasped. She landed lightly, her legs spread wide, and softness against her calves. The hands let go. The eruff voice said, “Well, look at him then.” Trish opened her eyes wide and looked down at the white horse under her. Its big head came up, and she reached out and patted it. She looked down at. Mr. Harbison. He winked. The gruff voice came again, “Giddap.” Kerry, walk with me Lp the new gangplank to the Ancient sailing ship. — GAY ESTES THAT HOLLOW FEELING Philip stepped down off the last step of the sleek, green and silver bus and onto the rain-soaked curbing. The large transcontinental bus slowly started out and picked up momentum as it hummed down the wet glistening street. Exhaust fumes mixed with the freshness of the rain-cleaned air, producing a burnt-rubber aroma. The mid-day sky was overcast and shed a pale grey hue over the small town. A grey puffed sky squeezes out light As two cawing gulls wing and dive in the wind. I lie on full grown grass watching A spread of green oak leaves rustle together, then apart. A loose brown leaf sways down and lands On my cheek. The leaves pause, then flitter again. — MICHAEL DEAMER With both hands Philip flipped the collar of his brown overcoat up to shield his neck from the coolness of the moist air. Philip Lansing was a middle-aged man. His receding black hair was sprayed with gray from age. A wide nose spread across his face above a His face bore the characteristic pocks of the thin-lipped mouth. small pox. Philip walked several paces to his right up the glistening pavement. He focused his attention on a real estate office, with its red brick walls encasing a curtained picture window. Gold gothic lettering stood out against the pale green glow of the curtains, spelling the name of the businessman on the rain-spotted window. Philip laughed under his breath. “Sure doesn’t look much like the lady's millinery shop that used to be there before I left. The window displays always had the latest styles. Kathy and I would laugh at the store manikins with their long flowing hair. Their arms were suspended in the air, holding up suits with wide lapels and heavily padded shoulders. The skirts were just as short then as now. Oh! Those shoes! Open toes and open heels, with the heels about three times as thick as today’s vogue. They looked better than the nails the young women run around on today.” He woke out of his day-dream and walked a few more steps to his right and stopped before the next shop, a barber shop. Philip thought back. “I remember the old place. The young shoe shine boy always pestering you when you went in for a haircut. The place where Kathy would wait outside, thinking it improper for her to go in.” The old place sure needed a coat of paint. That other white stuff 10 11 — | HAD A CLAUDIA TURNER FRIEND