By Lorry Myers
I first learned the song in Girl Scouts. To end our meetings, we would form a circle, arms raised to the sky. As we sang the words, we slowly lowered our arms to symbolize the setting sun. “Day is done…Gone the sun…” When the last note was over, our heads would be resting on folded arms.
Taps was our good-bye song.
Not long after that, I attended my first military funeral. After the final prayer, the sharp crack of rifles ripped through the stillness. The sound scared me and I jumped at the violent noise in such a peaceful place. Off to the side there were men in uniform, standing tall and sure, their rifles at their side, giving nothing away.
I felt like I was in the presence of greatness.
Then, slowly weaving its way through the somber gathering, came another sound…just as chilling as the guns. It was the mournful notes from a bugler, standing all alone.
I knew that song.
For the complete column, please see this week’s edition of the Centralia Fireside Guard.