THE FREEDOM HOP

Welcome to The Freedom Hop.  This is a great way to thank all the service men who have dedicated their lives to serving our country.  I'd also want to recognize the police, fireman and EMS workers who work to help us every day.

What better way to thank all the men and women who serve our country then honor this year the police who are out on the street every day keeping us safe.

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 Excerpt from THE BOARDWALK

When she heard strains of guitar in the distance, her memories faded away. She hadn’t heard the music in days. Now that she finally had the time, she planned to find the musician who brought such sweet melodies to her ears.

The music led her to the jungle gym by the bocce ball courts. A few days ago she heard the same Beatles song being played at the opposite end of the boardwalk at Midland Beach/Miller Field. She decided to investigate, walking the path under the trees in the shade, blocking her from the intense heat of the sun.

She spotted the musician, a guitarist, who sat with his back to her, and she listened as he changed his style from classical to a blues-jazz number. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes. For a brief moment, she felt the music flow through her, sending a chill down her overheated body.

Across the bocce ball courts hung American and Italian flags along with a banner announcing the semi-finals of the Italian-American Bocce Ball Association. The guitarist gathered an audience of men and women clapping from the courts. When he began playing again, they turned their attention back to the game.

Brooklyn moved closer, listening to his muse. At the close of the song, he looked up and their gazes met. Raven eyes enhanced his jet-black hair that was neatly pulled back into a two-inch long ponytail. His bronzed skin from the summer sun and lips were oh so inviting.

“Beautiful music.” After she spoke, Brooklyn knew she sounded like a complete idiot.

“Thank you.” He stood, putting his acoustic guitar down on the wooden bench. “I’m glad you enjoyed the tunes.”

“Are you the same musician who plays down the other end on the beach by Miller Field?”

“Yes I am. I move around every so often sharing my music.”

Brooklyn tried not to stare, but couldn’t help it he was gorgeous. His muscles bulged out of his white T-shirt, displaying a tribal print cuff on his left forearm. “I’m glad I ran into you today,” she said staring at him from behind her dark sunglasses.

“You come down here often?” he asked in a husky voice.

“I’m down here everyday.”

“Maybe I’ll catch you again.”

Brooklyn dropped a five-dollar bill into the guitar case before jogging back onto the boardwalk. What a wonderful way to start her day. She headed toward the fishing pier, humming the guitarist’s tune.

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