On that day the order went out from the top of the hill in Jerusalem. Send out men. Order them to go to every town, every village, every hovel in this rebellious country, and demand that they present themselves in the town of their birth, four weeks from now to register for their tax.
In a valley a young woman sat by a stream trailing her fingers through the water, gazing into the green blue depths, trying to read the passing of time in the passing of the water. Her hand, wet and dripping would occasionally gently stroke the swelling mound of her belly, foreshadowing, had she but known it, another washing, another journey to the water, another time of anointing for the next stage of the journey of life.
So the men descended the hill of Jerusalem to the valley of the Kidron, and fanned out. In…
View original post 244 more words