Garden of Eden

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It is a large expanse of meadows all around, with mountains towering over all sides, sky as blue as an overhanging ocean. The lush verdure carpeting all land, continues to wrap all mountains till top in its green. It is bliss. It is alive. The sunrays light the whole scene, bathing it in their freshness and liveliness. An early hour of winter, an early day of spring. Scents, fragrances, without any apparent source, wafting around with the delicate caresses of the breeze. Right in the centre of those vast grasslands stands a man, turning around and registering the heavenly influence of that place, absolutely enraptured. He is blemished, maimed, dishevelled, a victim of a long, demanding, exertive journey. He might break down and fall succumbing to his weight that he cannot carry anymore. He might fly for the atom of brilliance within him yearns to be free. He does fly, levitating upwards, indeed. Tears roll down his face as he is lifted upwards, heavenwards. They leave his scarred visage, transforming into blossoms emanating scents and fragrances anew. This theatrical occurrence, no one beholds, comes to an end as it always does. As he soars up and up, the Eden is left to await its Adam again.

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