Walking down a tree lined walk, the Cicadas buzz fill the sultry August air. A breeze barely stirs the leaves and the Spanish Moss makes for an eerie feel to the place.

You see smoke from a chimney up ahead through the trees and smell the compelling scent of food cooking on a fire somewhere.

The trees open up as you keep walking and you find a small house that almost seems out of place, yet it fits right in.

On the front porch, you see some rocking chairs.

A woman sits in one of them with a small table next to her with a full pitcher with ice cubes and a brownish liquid inside it and some glasses. One is full and she takes a sip from it.

She sees you and stands calling out to you, "Ah, nice to see you made it, Sweetie. Have a seat up here in the shade an' tell Miss Emma your woes.

Miss Emma is always here to help."

She sits back in her rocking chair, settling her light weight skirt and she pours you a glass of ice cold Southern Sweet Tea.