The ardor of late spring had finally found its way into Eve’s bedroom. Rainbow lorikeets outside the window serenaded the sunrise. A cool breeze hinted sweet delights. The clock ticked a lullaby, then rang a surprise.
Eve opened her eyes to her thirtieth year alone. Dawn peeked through lace curtains and daylight embraced her. She felt like the first woman, awakening in a garden where Adam waited.
She stretched and saw herself naked in Eden. Her pillow transformed itself into a moss-covered root of an ancient banyan tree. The white lace canopy above became a mottled shelter of forest leaves. Her linen changed into dew-laden grass. Eve felt re-born, and everything appeared heavenly.
She closed her eyes, then turned away from the window to conceal ancient innocence. Her back arched as the sun pecked cool skin. Scorching light trailed kisses down her spine. She rolled to face the hot beam. It alighted on her toes, then glided up higher and higher, to where she was most woman. Eve groaned. Her hips ground against the sheets.
She untied the ribbons that fastened her nightdress to reveal one breast, round and divine. The sunlight caressed it. Its rays moved in a gentle spiral motion from the base of her breast to its sensitive peak. Eve gasped, and raised herself against the fiery caress. Her eyelids fluttered as a cloud of warm breath floated in the morning air.
Her pulse calmed, her breathing slowed. Tears slid down flushed cheeks, as emptiness filled an aging womb.
Eve rose from bed then sighed. Work and life summoned, and the Garden of Eden became Fitzroy Gardens once again.
Paradise had banished Eve, but the First Woman lived on.
C. A. T. Torres V reinvents herself every decade. From molecular biologist to lawyer to writer. She’s often a combination of these, but always a wife and mother.