MELODY (Book 1) ✓

chapter 13 ( Sheep Meadow)

My life never gets better than a walk in the park.

Unless it was rainy or snowy, I used to do this circle tour almost every week when I'd come here in Central Park. Strolling the pathway that runs along sheep meadow, bordered by oaks, elms and maple trees, marveling at those pretty flowers on the sides that flourish in the springtime infusing their aroma everywhere before I finally cross the perimeter of the meadow and settle in my usual spot.

My favorite part of the season was when those little cherry blossoms pop like bits of cotton candy hanging atop the trees. When you find the ground carpeted with pretty petals loosened by the spring breeze. Showers of pink fluffy petals sprinkled all over the place with each waft of air, painting everything below with my favorite color. I'd just live there forever if I could, making them my eternal bed.

In the middle of a long walkway lined by marvelous lilac shrubs in various shades of purples and pinks , I halted, inhaling the fragrance in the air mixed with the dewy smell of recently cut grass, and continued walking toward the fringe of the meadow.

This place was definitely worth my wait all week and I really missed it so much. The peace. The colors. The scents. everything. Even the people here seemed different. Happier. Carefree. More human.

With a careful pace, I stepped from the paved walkway into my meadow. A wide spread carpet. Green, enormous and never crowded. No matter how many people came to picnic or simply take naps on the lawn while their dogs enjoyed freedom in the sunshine, I still could feel the space and the isolation. This bench in a secluded corner, under a huge elm tree was my favorite spot to nestle with my book. Here I could be far enough to read in peace without being too far from sight, in case anything happened. Which made it a fairly safe place for me.

Panting lightly, I hurried to sit down after the long walk, removing my bag to hang it on the backrest of the bench, pushing it towards the back to face the trunk of the tree, just out of habit. You can't be too careful when it comes to personal belongings. Not that I owned much though.

The air was still cool and crisp. A few minutes passed idly as I sat admiring the view and just breathing in.

Watching people was my second favorite activity in here and in this early hour there were only a few moms with their kids, flying kites or playing with Frisbees around the wide grass field.

A cute little boy with his skin the color of milk chocolate was bumbling around trying to find a place to hide. His young mom covered her eyes with her hands, propping her elbow over a tree and it actually looked like she was cheating.

A smile played on my lips.

Kids looked so happy down here, playing childish games with their parents and siblings. Their excited little voices reached me from the distance adding to the mood of carefree joy that defined this place for me. It looked great to have a family. I wished from the bottom of my heart to be like them but... I guess I didn't deserve it.

I reached to take out the newly borrowed book from my handbag and went through the summary written on the back cover then I checked the number of pages. I always check how many pages in my read, trying to estimate the time it would take me to finish it. When the book's to my liking, it makes me feel a wee bit down when I'm reading the last chapter. Almost like saying goodbye to a dear friend.

A Bestseller sign was engraved with golden letters on the top corner of the paperback along with my favorite author's name that was printed down at the bottom. Severna Rogers wrote the sweetest romance novels and the story seemed to be the right mix of romance and mystery which captivated me from the first chapter. I just hoped nobody paid attention to the unruly changes of my expressions as I read. They can get out of hand that I forget I was in a public place. People might think I was crazy but I still couldn't control the twisting and turning of my facial muscles when I get affected by the progress of the plot.