Confederate flags guiding the way through the tunnels of dense trees along the washboard dirt road.
SOUND: Choruses of crickets and cicadas flood your ears. Giggling screeches as nieces and nephews learn how to keep their nose above water by using their tiny feet as propellers. A smack, splash, and eruption of laughter as my Unlce performs his enfamous "spank the baby" that had been retired from the diving board for 20 odd years.
SMELL: still cant smell a thing thanks to my sisters lovely Dominican Republic souvenir cold.
TASTE: Grandmama's red chicken stew and cheese biscuits
TOUCH:The slapping sting of water hitting my feet as I finally nail my front flip, void of any unnecessary spastic twists, off the spring board. Heart thumping as we team up to plot and capture a spider with a butt the size of home grown cherry tomato. The slight sting of a split toe in each step taking me back to my barefooted childhood years.
Tree tunnels
grandmama and her sister watching the youngans from their perch
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