[Walking in The Garden of Eden]

Rapidly redesigning itself in its every rebirth with every step I take. The American Larch tree taking shape with the sound of a bang, as if two cars collided. Just for it to burn down to explosion so the Red Maple tree can be born in it’s whirl winding ashes. The Black Locust filling up the garden creating little red and white leaf storms, in the blink of an eye, that takes me in, growing larger, vibrating my body, quaking and swinging, jerking roots and grass screeching until the surface is dry once again, like tobacco. Only the Black Oak tree in sight. I have to get out of here. The air and my breath are sticky, I want to vomit. If there are any, bird chirps are definitely dimmed. Where is the exit? I am lightspeed running in the monotonous changing and looping garden baffling me with distinguishable déjà vu up to the point where the soft, dark green gras rises with his waking stretch. The grass sweating with me dramatically as if the Black Birch tree is soiled in lubricant when it pulls back it’s stroke from penetrating heavenly earth. Establishing itself, disguising calamity with calmness. For I can sense it’s movement. Glitching from Black Birch to The Quaking Aspen tree back and forth continuously, closing and eventually caving me in dizzy until I scream the white flag: “Let me die!”. And in doing so they burry their selves with screams of agony and fighting thorns. I look around as it takes the whole garden to the silencing evidence of my own desolate existence. So there I sit, in front of The Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. Seasoning my open mouth and eyes that finally look up to the brilliant baby blue sky that never changed. There’s no cloud in sight, I hear the birds and crickets, I’m dried and steady. It’s warm again.
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