In paying homage to this beautiful Island where I took my first breath, this is my reflection of its beauty, thus, calling it Cinderella Island in its promise and possibilities.
The Island I knew, my “Cinderella Island,” remained almost untouched in her pristine beauty, unspoiled by the forces of time and their events, brazenly displayed across her snow-white shoreline. Her lush green forestry was randomly interrupted by streams of freshwater rolling through the countrysides while reaching upward into the clouds where mountainous peaks like outstretched arms lifted in praise. Like dutiful soldiers, their rugged mountains stood guard, always assuring her survival during the hurricanes and stormy seasons. Cinderella Island would prevail no matter nature’s wrath.
The mornings, oh those mornings, an experience like that of new birth, with streams of sunlight piercing the dawn, flowing effortlessly through the forestry canopies; another segment to nature’s hypnotic force— keeping all observers spellbound. The cliff’s finger-like projections enchantingly formed a picturesque backdrop on the higher planes. Simultaneously, the lower plains, which were another life source beneath the cool of the shades, resided amicably. (Continue tomorrow).