My Hammock

Jon Erii, 2017

During my first years in Venezuela, when my son Christian was still a toddler. Every so often, we would go on a weekend trip to Chichiriviche on the coast west of Puerto Cabello. We paid a local fisherman to give us a lift to one of the many islands in the archipelago just offshore and bring supplies when needed. I would string my hammock between two coconut palm trees, and my wife and Christian would sleep in a tent. We would sunbathe and swim in the lagoon. Passionately, I spent endless hours in awe, snorkeling and observing the coral scenery. At night, under the marvelous tropical sky, with dying embers – a world of wonder enters the mind of the young who seeks meaning.

Supine on weaved white cotton,

life is bliss all of a sudden.

Gently swinging from side to side,

unfocused, staring high and wide.

On blue canvas, clouds drift away

The palms, in and out, they sway.

Like the clouds, my mind is wandering

thoughts are clear, then pondering.

Sounds of ocean, hand in the sand,

is this moment an eternity’s strand?

Or maybe a subtle glimpse of heaven?

Who knows, I’m on cloud number seven.

Blue turns grey, orange, then pitch black.

Multiverse, dimensions, and thoughts are back.

The sky is so dark with millions of bright dots.

A tropical night - imagination run amok.

The breeze is cool, a dreamer’s sleep sets in.

Serene, lulled so slightly on cotton so thin.

A fireball, bright over the horizon rising

The sand cool, my eyes gently peeking.

A universal answer has not come to mind

As a philosopher I have failed - still blind.

Yet, a new day in paradise has come,

and a memorable weekend has gone.