A did a piece of writing after hiking an area in Bermuda called the "Blue Hole."

The Blue Hole has an interesting history and contains some amazing submerged caves and private pools. One of the very few unsolved murders in recent Bermuda history occurred there, and it is the location of the oldest rock type on the island.


Your now seldom trodden paths fall under new feet, withstanding each impact of soul and sole, bearing up upon unyielding and ancient rock the weight of another exploration, an adventuring spirit, another of the millions of creatures that you have felt wander across your very spine, and with thoughtless query your impatient question of 800,000 years rises again...

Will this be the one? Or will this be only another impertinent and transient creature that errantly uses the earthy mystery of this space for gathering dirt and stone, or ripping foliage aside for consumption, or splattering in fury, another's blood upon you hoping you will shroud its evil form detection? Or will this one impede the conquest and domination long enough to pause momentarily, stand still enough - long enough to allow your archaic message to creep from the core of this vain of our origination and stir as deeply within them as it resides within you, the tendril of impervious and undaunted myth that is your message?