Caribbean Descriptive Writing

“Ava, wake up!” My mom buoyantly nudged me awake. I peeled open my eyes, blinking away the tired fog, and glanced around. I was in the shiny, midnight black jeep my family was renting, which had become tan from being continuously splattered by sand and mud. The car was parked next to a small cottage belonging to , caked in bright pink and yellow paint. Proud roosters with long, shiny, satin feathers, squawked noisily. Lazy goats waddled around, nibbling on vibrant green grass. Short trees covered in ripe, yellow bananas flourished, along with grapefruits and tall palm trees. Fire red flowers the size of lamp poles with small snow-white buds swayed gently in the warm ocean breeze. Although I couldn’t see very far past the dense wall of palm trees and bushes behind the cottage, I could make out the soft, crystal blue waves of the Caribbean in the distance. It was 2011, and my family and I were in Dominica, a small island in the Caribbean. My mom stood in front of me, an ecstatic smile
After a few seconds of desperate flailing, my feet found the mountain edge and landed on a tree root that stuck out like a ladder rung. I shimmied down the rope, then stepped on the next tree root. Each step I took was with great care because I wasn’t sure which tree roots and rocks were sturdy, or which ones were delicate glass that would snap at your feet. Panic filled my chest and raced through my body as I made my way down the steep mountain side. My head raced with scenarios of my tragic death. Rocks would give away beneath my feet and I would slip and fall, my body slamming into the boulders and water below. Or maybe one of the vines that I was trusting as ladder was really some sort of poisonous reptile. I wiped sweat from my forehead, my hand trembling as my heart beat away in my chest like a woodpecker. I continued down the sheer cliff edge, my eyes filled with terrified