We climbed the tree in the warmth of the sun,
in little summer dresses with pony tailed hair,
laughing and smiling as we played.
Hanging upside down from the small limbs
that could hardly bare weight.
Leaves tickled our noses, bark burned our feet
as we climb up and down its tiny trunk.
Pecan crusher and piles of shells lay on a picnic
table under a group of trees where grandpa cracks
and bags them for later on pie.
Grand-maw spills the salt that she puts in fresh made ice cream.
We climb down, figs squish between the toes on our bare feet
as we run off in play.