Just for a day.
A day before?
Well, before it all changes, of course.
But still, would that be enough?
Yes, of course it would—enough, perfect.
But before what?
Before what?
Before whatever is now, I suppose—before the land grab of the enclosures, before the seizing of it all, before the theft of the treasured past.
Yes, perfect then—poverty in common with striving and the earth.
East of Eden, but still only east of it, still close by to it.
Eden with labour but with more company than granted to Adam.
And more play, and songs, and games.
Yes, the joy of relating to another, and another, and another, relating to a fellowship of others; a hive buzzing with the moment of existence—humming with it all.
The endeavour of the present east of Eden.
Vitality.
Nature.
Fellowship.
Games.
Pebbles with holes, tied to the ragged coattails of the overseer.
Play.
Playfulness.
Laughter.
The constant presence of benevolent discipline.
Yes, East of Eden.
Just for a day.
That would be enough—perfect.
