The East of Eden

In the thickness of the mist, perched on a rock, I sit.

Seeing everything but blind to the paradise I revel in.

To the East is paradise, and where I am can only be described as 'suspension'.

Things like clocks with windows instead of faces hang unsupported in the air.

No wind is blowing, yet my hair is back from my face, as if a fan is directly and only on me.

What can I see?

I see faint traces of what I percieve as roads, but having no desire to investigate, I just look around me

in wonderment as I see bridges being built.