In the heart of Bermuda’s summer,

where the sun dances on turquoise waves,

I was a child of salt and sand,

each day a canvas painted by the sky.

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The sun kissed the skin

in a way that never burned,

only warmed, like a mother’s touch—

constant, sure, and gentle.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The salt air danced with laughter,

and the winds carried secrets,

stories spun by the sea, whispers

of centuries buried in pink sands.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The island’s rhythm hummed beneath my feet—

a symphony of cicadas,

the laughter of friends spilling

into the blue embrace of the ocean.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Morning sunlight filtered through palm fronds,

etching intricate patterns on my skin,

while the breeze whispered secrets,

carried from distant shores.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I was a free spirit most days

chasing the distant horizon’s smile,

hands outstretched, grasping for the elusive,

as the world grew larger

with each tide’s retreat and return.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In those sun-soaked days,

time stretched, a golden ribbon,

weaving memories into my soul,

etching each heartbeat with

the promise of endless summers.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Endless days, where time dissolved,

measured only by the sun’s arc

and the glow of twilight that lingered

longer than it should.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I was one of seven excitable siblings,

we were young, and the world, ours.

The ocean never far, its call familiar,

a song I'd known since childhood.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Summer was our escape,

a place where dreams felt real,

and the horizon, always open.

Bermuda held us close, and we,

in turn, held onto its heart.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Now, when I close my eyes,

I can still feel the warmth,

the island’s gentle pull,

a reminder of a summer escape

etched into the fabric of who I am.