The Garden before Gravity
And the evening and the morning were the fifth day.
Genesis 1:23
As a child, I was taught the Eden of temptation—
that distant, forbidden place of lasting exile.
But secretly, I painted another one.
A small, hidden garden,
untouched by human breath.
A world both vibrant and expectant,
alive yet waiting.
The Eden before grief.
The Eden before gravity.
In the foreground, I often imagined a heron—
its gaze sharp and watchful—
standing as sentinel over my unclaimed garden.
Beside it, sometimes a striped thylacine,
gliding through the sleeping undergrowth.
Above them,
the moon always peered out from behind a tree.
Out of place, I know—
as if the gods were still shaping and forming.
Time past and time present,
both folding into time to come.
A place that never was,
yet always has been…