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.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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.
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