Now That’s Blue!
There is a lot of cool and spooky lore about Bermuda and its infamous Triangle, and stunningly blue waters. Because I don’t believe in ghosts, I adore a good ghost story. Apparently, the lore is enhanced by myriad shipwrecks that ring the island. Maps show there is a coral ring that surrounds the island, that ships hurl themselves upon, or are dragged upon, during stormy weather.
The island was created from a volcano, and is full of caves, underground tunnels, and wind tubes that emit spooky, eerie sounds both night and day. We were there on a rainy day, and as the mist covered the island, you could truly imagine pirates, shipwrecks, and ghosts haunting the grounds of the abandoned buildings, the lighthouse, and the ships capsized and jutting out of the sea.
Visiting there a few weeks ago made me want to don a peasant shirt, a long, flowy skirt with heavy gold chains, a swashbuckling hat, tall boots, and to carry a sword over my shoulder. I wanted to stride off of the cruise ship, onto the island, plant my feet and proclaim, “I am here!” and be heralded with great aplomb, flower wreaths and a grand feast. (What I think I may have done to deserve this treatment isn’t at all important. Actually, it is non-existent. But what the heck, eh?)
After my grand feast, I would be taken aboard a hand-carried chariot and brought to the pink sand beach, which is where I would watch in awe and wonder as shovels were wielded and eventually, a large pirate’s chest would be brought out and laid at my feet.
Without getting my hands dirty, I would somehow open said chest and discover rubies, pearls, sapphires, emeralds, diamonds, gold, and licorice. First, I’d start with the licorice, and with it melting in my mouth, I would carefully sort through the treasures, giving each person with me a fair share so as to be a decent human.
Then, after securing all of the licorice (no one else wanted it), and so many jewels and so much gold I could barely carry it, I would return to my cruise ship and happily sail back to New Jersey, no one the wiser that I was now sitting upon a king’s fortune, wrested from the haunted depths of the Bermuda Triangle.
