In The Jungles of the DR

Lush, green trees keep out the light over the cavernous, craggly curves and dips of the rocks, so smooth like marble and slick with algae, carved out from centuries of waterflow that has grown stronger every year.  Each vine hangs at different levels, some close enough to the bottom pool so that the tourists in their life jackets can reach up with daring fingers.  They don't dare, though; the guide, all lean muscle and tan skin, swoops in and over, water dripping from his limbs, and leaps, arms splaying and chest pumped, finally splashing into the shallow pool in front of them.

Confession: This picture is not exactly of the DR....but it's close

The shoe no longer has laces; it's a Keds, circa 1980-something, one of the rare styles with flair, brightly colored as if spattered with paint.  The stream has not washed out the color.  The water leads up the bend and back around the trees, disappearing.  Anything can disappear in those warm hills even though they are interlaced with light from the high noon sun, when above the temperatures reach three digits.