Bermuda Illuminations

Between two massive igneous formations rests a turquoise cove with ocean waters warmed to a Bermuda summer glow.

Ten thousand years of blue incessant waves have undercut the old caldera stone to thunder crashing with each coral tidal lightning show.

I'm in the water with my thirty-something year old daughter and we're snorkeling and looking at the unknown world

beneath the surface of the sea. It's paradise revisited for me.

That's when I saw the angel fish, or what I like to call an angel fish, although a little later on I'm told it's just an everyday Bermuda sea chub.

You see they change their colors like a mood ring, silver being their default, and black their warlike tint.

But white is their harmonious and peaceable embodiment.

Amazing, like an underwater Prospero, I am conjuring a show that never happens, although I know this spontaneity is looking

through this looking glass and seeing far into the past when my Miranda came to being helping with my seeing,

like this angel fish of my imagination, focusing a world of waves into a sea of self-awareness.

Bermuda is the truth and even someone sixty-something is illuminated in its timeless youth.

Clifton of St. George

There’s a black man in Bermuda who asks each tourist he encounters this specific question:

how old should someone be before allowing them to drink?

There’s a tourist in Bermuda who answers if they’re old enough to die.

There’s a black man in Bermuda who's asked if he remembers being born and answers he recalls that original swimming.

There's a tourist in Bermuda who knows the only knowledge is I am, yet in the deeper water asks his ginger beer and black Bermuda rum:

but who am I?