[center][img]http://www.getintogaffney.com/Data/Sites/1/SharedFiles/city-park.jpg[/img][/center]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FkxeX7t4Jiw

The park always brought to her a sense of peace when she saw it, a place not too far from the city, but oh so distant from the drugs, the gangs, the crooked cops, and all the sordid mayhem that ate it alive like a ravenous parasite.  Here, she was in her own little world, just her and her beat up acoustic.

Children played and laughed chasing after an adorable Scottish Terrier puppy bouncing about on his hind legs through a clear verdant meadow of grasses and wildflowers, old men, withering with age, sat swapping stories of a past long gone around a faded checkerboard while sipping tea, young lovers resided underneath the cool shade of a towering, fully blossomed oak beside the sparkling emerald waters of the river, sharing a kiss or two and carving their names into the thick bark of the tree, a testament to their love never to fade, and Liz...she sat at her usual place, the bench nearby the old fountain in the midst of it all.

She loved it, every sight, every sound culminating so well with the gentle trickle of water, the chirping and serenading of songbirds in the trees, the rustle of the grass as a cute, tiny squirrel dashed away from her, and of course...the sound of her pick strumming the coiled metal strings of her instrument.  Her eyes closed, her fingers danced across the frets, playing every note in perfect musical precision.  No sheets of music to read off; she didn't need them.  Whatever she played, it was genuine, from the heart.

And the people seemed to like it too, as she heard a few coins and such hitting against the open guitar case by her feet, yet not a single pause to say thank you.  Instead, she kept playing, her gracious gesture as a simple nod to the person and a wry smile.