By Rima L. Yrteng
A woman made of clouds. And she formed together simply like that. Just made of clouds. She holds nothing but a simple umbrella in her hand. And she holds not a word on her tongue unless it’s some form of Early Modern English. And bears not a single pain. Not even the birth of her son. She put a piece of cloud out of her skin, and shaped it into a beautiful baby boy. This was the cloud woman. And she stood in the garden, where she didn’t belong with nothing but a simple umbrella. The boy stood on his own now. Oh yes he stood on his own. She can remember when he was bedridden. But how could he be?
When people think of God, they think not of a man, but of the Cloud Woman. But she was no god. Just merely a woman. With a son whom she must care for. A son who lived in the Garden that she didn’t belong in. She knew she didn’t belong there. As the Cloud Woman she did things that other people weren’t willing to do. And this was one of them. No one dared to stumble into the Garden of Eden, even though everyone learned how to ever since they were a child. But taking a simple breath and letting yourself be airy. And light. So you can drift off there. And then when you’re there. You simply stop. People thought she was of some sort of magic so she had a place in the world of barren fruits and human passions. But she was nothing but a woman. There were lies that stated that the Garden was only for the dead.
“Thou hadst not a brain,” she would say, roughly. And then she would show them. “The only thing thou needest to do is take heed of the creeping air.”
They would ignore her. Usually. Pretend like they couldn’t see her. And the Cloud Woman would be sad, mad even. And she couldn’t touch them and shake them. That was not the gift she was given. There was something else the humans called the Cloud Woman and that was a spirit. A spirit whose son had died from disease and chose to take her own life. But God has its ways. And now she spends time between the Garden and the vicious humans of Earth.