of John E. Clemant. I could feel the evening breeze and I looked at the etching of his stone monument. I didn’t know why; I had a daisy in my hand that was growing along the sidewalk. I stood there as if I could picture him in my head, as if he was here.
A girl was watching me and she quietly walked over, standing with me. After a moment or so, she turned to me and asked, ” Did you know him too?”
I didn’t reply, and for a while, we just stood there, listening to the wind. Then I looked at the daisy and walked closer to his tombstone. I placed the daisy in front of it. And without looking at her, I replied,