The moment was swollen with pregnant pauses when Gaia, in high spirits, sat to contemplate forever. Not forever, exactly, just the now she found herself in. But in a moment like the one Gaia pondered, forever seemed infinitely simple. Like Gaia, herself.
Opening her small apeirogonal case, she lifted out a universe of possibilities, sorting them like trinkets and placing them in patterns only she could understand. Her eyes brightened when she encountered the perfect blue sphere, shot through with swirls of shifting white. Smiling, she sighed life onto the sphere.
On this particular swollen moment, this parturient probability pregnant with possibilities, Gaia would dream the blue sphere a story. The kind of story only a being as imaginative as Gaia could conceive, before boredom found the blue sphere tossed back into the case, along with all the other fine, sparkling trinkets.
“But first,“ Gaia thought, “let there be light…”