In my love of nature, its romance, beauty, and the mystique of life in the unfiltered horizon of my imagination, it’s what propels me to see and feel in a manner that validates life as I know it. Maybe I am truly a dreamer because even in the horror and sheer cruelty which is a part of our reality, one cannot let go of the good in our midst. So, in that place of purity and sincerity, it is OK to dream a new. To be in touch with emotions that arouse feelings of life’s good. From that place, I described Jamaica, the one I knew as a child. I coined it Cinderella Island, as I recalled those formative years when life was so different, and dreams seemed possible. Marjorie Delores
Continue from yesterday: In the bristling sounds from the ocean’s breeze, lazily sweeping across the forest floors, there were rare birds, bees, butterflies, and an array of lizards and frogs clothed in glittering colors—frolicking around in a dance to a beat of their own. As a result, almost unabashedly, each species was zooming around in their desired task at hand, choreographed by forces that caused them to be. The island’s captivated energy made it a paradise for all and its native stewards. The island landscapes were a palate of nature’s colors and forms designed to enthrall.
Having assorted shades of pastels to intense hues of purples, blues, pinks, reds, canvasses of flowers bloomed with every imaginable color, and species of plants sprawled effortlessly along with its landscapes. Cinderella Island’s radiance and aromas perfumed the air. Nature’s allure fashioned its parade of hues showcasing life’s panorama of beauties. Fields with grazing cows, goats roaming, while donkeys loaded up with fresh produce of fruits and vegetables destined for sale in villages’ squares or the communal marketplace, each fragment of nature’s base was ever churning and the rhythm of life bountiful. Only their Creator could explain daily activities between man and beast, which created an emotional mix filled with energy and often bliss. The natives selectively partake in their blessings, raveling in what they had. Quickly drawn into moments tease that captured their imaginations, surrendering they did as its subjects to its moments’ appeal.
The island’s air was often filled with sounds and smells at mid-day, tickling the senses. From the rustling to whistling sounds from the ocean’s breeze as it swept across everything in its path. Trees laden with ripe fruits such as mangoes tossed like missiles, their aromas saturated the air, rendering unsuspected victims slightly bruised. Although startled by those events, the recipients of their weapons eagerly erased the discomforts encountered compensated by those tasty fruits…(Continue).