Music slowly crept into our hearing as we wandered through the massive Golden Gate Park. Hardly Strictly Bluegrass Festival was occurring this weekend and it was free, therefore, we were attending. At the moment, both of us are stationed in a destitute state, and our forms of entertainment consist of affordable activities: walks in the park, hiking, beach trips, etc. By all means, we avoid the clubs and anything remotely which will drain our wallets.
As we approached the first stage, a sea of people were spread out across the grass. It was warming to witness a crowd of all demographics tuning in for live music. Most festivals I have attended in the past was composed primarily of concert-goers in their twenties and teens. Here–older couples were swinging back and forth together, different generations we’re knocking back beers together, and plenty of people, of all ages, were just being weird. This event symbolized the community within San Francisco.
We shared and sipped on our solo beer, relishing each swig, and appreciated life for what is was at the moment. I reached my arm around her waist and Porter rested her head on my shoulder. These moments once belonged to the summer but now carried forward to the fall–new season, new place, new music. And with that, the music kept on playing.