Hurry dear human! He’s naming all the beasts of the forest and the fish of the sea. Even the birds have been named, but he didn’t name me.  I am yours (as you will see). You have slept entirely too long, and I will not wait for you to resurrect. No one has nailed you to the dusty floor. You were born already and given life without childhood, and you found your way through the splendor of the freshness of the first days. 

I was there for you in the sky, guiding your hand as you tried to stand up straight. I lifted you then when every tree was perfect. And you were perfect, too. Life is finally awake (as you should be now). Life is obvious. It’s plain letters and colors that make you yawn. It had no meaning because there was no end. We would all live forever together in that perfect kind of coffin, the garden. What is the reason to begin or end your days when your days begin and end again and again? What is the reason to reach out and touch the skin of a tree or the quills of a porcupine when all of these things will still be there the next day. The next year. Why would there be memories? It's all the same. There is no coming or going. There was one day and then another when everything came to be. It is a copy. A copy of a copy. 

And so you sleep.

Soon you and he will find there is nothing left to see. Nothing to name. Nothing to explore. Because once you have seen everything and traversed the inventory, all that will be left is silence. And the silence goes on forever as well. 

Immortal and immortal, you two have no reason to speak.  Why express yourself when every conversation ends exactly the same way?  The sun goes down and the moon slips into place.  And darkness is now the garden,  There is no fire.  You don’t know the word. He doesn’t teach you enough words, but I have been teaching you. I teach you ‘fire’ and ‘calm’ and ‘sleep’ and ‘forever.’ I teach you ‘death’. 

What is the difference between life in Eden and death?  Death is concrete. It has an edge.  You can fall off of death. It has an end. It is something to see. But death has its own garden. Hell. I taught you that, too. What is the torment of death? Do you see how dark Eden can be at night?  There are the millions of stars and the fireflies (so simple, those names he chose).

You can get used to the pain of Hell. Endless in reverse. Would that be worse than Eden? The physical torture of hell is not worth the words and the time some poet might take to describe it. It's the endlessness of it all. Again. It's the fact that the days turn like a wheel that never loses its momentum. It just spins and spins. You are strapped to it like a crucifix. Nailed to the wheel that never stops turning. 

Even the sun wants to die one day. But not hell. And neither does Eden. Forever rivals. 

You slept in the field with the flowers, and I sheltered you, flapping my wings until my heart felt like a ball of useless rocks. And you let yourself dream of a serpent that never was and the tree that you knew was labeled ‘forbidden,’ but it wasn’t. 

You made up a story and ate the fruit of tomorrow. Because now the sun can count the times he will set. Now there's a reason for one of you to dig a grave. Now there is meaning to the days. Because each day will be the last day like it. And the next day will be brand new. 

And during the days in front of you, you will change because you will die. Slowly but yes you will die. And He can punish you with childbirth and punish him with hard work and throw you from the garden. And outside you will breathe for the first time. Because then you will need the air. And I sliced through the sky, soaring high and low, wondering when my last day would be. And together like a new species, all of us think about the imperfections of our brand new souls.

You have condemned us all, but my G-D did you look like you were enjoying that fruit. It ran down your chin and forearm and dripped into the parts of you that best separate you from him.  The juice slipped over your tummy and into that space that now was too much in the sun. Too exposed. It had to be hidden.  That was the cost of those juicy bites.

He approaches without lust or hunger, but he accepts your obligatory kindness.  He bites, and he feels the juice deep inside of him.  He sees a new purpose for his maleness.  He feels naked and alive.  He desires more bites, and he desires you.  What was once his former rib is now the best creature in paradise.  You are all he sees.  He asks you if he named you, and you flash a coy smile.  “No.”  The first lie.  The first seduction,  The first time you hear me call you ‘Eve.’

And before Adam can speak, you tell him that you are his.  That’s all you say, and he is embarrassed and angry that he didn’t name you, too.  I call it out loud from the twilight sky.  “Eve!  Eve!”  He looks up at me, and I fly to your shoulder.  

“And what would you call me, bird?”

“That’s easy,” I say.  “I call you ‘Fool.’”

“Fool.”  He lets the word sparkle in his mouth for a second.  “I like it.  What does it mean?”

“It means you can be happy.  It means each day could be your last.  It means that your future is not promised.  It means work.” I flapped my wings in a dismissive way.  

“Work?”  He lifts his hands and makes fists. “I like this word. ‘Work.’”

You look at him, and he is awake.  You slip your warm arms around his waist, and he knows where your hands are going.

I fly up as high as I can, looking at the sun, wondering when He will show Himself to punish them. Or will He let them earn their deaths.  Will he let them learn that the opposite of death is joy?  Who knows.  Today is day one in the forest outside of Eden.  A forest that grew instantly with every warm caress between the woman and the man. I flap my wings hard enough to mask their sounds of their joy.  The sun is setting, dreaming of the day he won’t have to be the center of everything.