This Other Eden

by Paul Harding

don’t know. I hope there are. I hope there’s a boy and a girl on that planet right there—that’s Saturn; I think it’s Saturn—I hope there’re a boy and a girl looking at the fleck of light in their sky that they think is Earth, talking about how they hope there’s a boy and girl there talking about them.

I’ve seen flowers that red, he said. Strawberries. Cherries. But everything in the world changes colors every second.

So, here is another arrival on our little island, Esther thought. Our little island on this little earth. This little earth, hung somewhere deep in the fathomless heavens. Here is another arrival—this girl, this child— ripening within her own body the seed of another arrival, another child, each and every life comprehensive, each peculiar, each priceless, and each less than the shadow of a shadow, all cherished or despised, celebrated or aggrieved, memorialized or entirely forgotten.

EARTH IS THIS SURFACE. Earth is this solid stratum. Earth is the hole or hiding place of burrowing animals. Earth is the soil suitable for cultivation. Earth is the medium by which a circuit is completed. Earth is the ground. Earth is a place for burial. Earth is the present abode of humankind. Earth is wordless and patient and suffered the grave robbers’ spades in silence.