Front Porches: Open Diary Collection of Short Stories.

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When I was a 6 y o kid, my Mama, Lulu Jack, would frustratingly send me & my siblings packing, down South to Alabama for Summer vacations. I would hop from my Grandmama Bonnie's Sun-baked, humid front porch, cross the red dirt road, without sidewalks, which is the official border County-line between Prichard Co.-to- Mobile County. I'd plop down, sweatin', meditating by the 100-year-old Great Live Oak Tree, that still stands today. I'd sit under the cool of the Oak's shade as it stood like some ancient Sentinel guarding over my best friend's crickety porch. I'd drink a cold glass of her iced water, as Miss Dane opened another imaginary book conjuring up inside her tiny head. I'd rest at her bosom, listening to the rosy stories my Oracle friend slowly brewed like hot Chili on a subzero January Winter's day.The deepest Oak roots, are also the branches...", My 100 year old best friend, MISS DANE, would tell me. 'Ms D' was an herbalist, and grand master voodoo priestess. She taught me how to use REAL ROSE MAGIC.