Micah 4:3-4 (NET)
He will arbitrate between many peoples
and settle disputes between many distant nations.
They will beat their swords into plowshares, diagnosis
and their spears into pruning hooks.
Nations will not use weapons against other nations, view
and they will no longer train for war.
Each will sit under his own grapevine
or under his own fig tree without any fear.

THE BALLET, PART 2: Noise

Twelve-year-old, (almost thirteen, he would tell you) squatty (but strong, he would tell you), black-haired, black-rimmed glasses, hipster connoisseur, Noise jumped off the swing just as it reached the point of falling backward, at that perfect apex where time stands still and the world appears to move more slowly. He landed perfectly, his feet square on the ground, his arms outstretched over his head like a triumphant gymnast, his porkpie hat firmly planted on his head. The other, mostly younger children gleefully applauded, then ran off to play on the merry-go-round.

Saturday was Noise’s favorite day of the week. There wasn’t any school to worry about, so he and his friends played around the enclave all day long. There was a pretty nice park in the middle of the neighborhood, with swings, a huge sandbox, and chess tables. A mixture of grassy and brick areas and walking paths meandered their way across the enclave, embraced by a canopy of ancient trees that blossomed with the birth of a softer, more gentle world. This was the Friday night gathering place for community feasts, the temple for weddings and funerals, the playground for children, and for their children’s children. The park was their holy place.

Noise’s friend Josh called out playfully, “Come on, Noise! We’re going to play Emperor of Dirt! Come topple my evil regime!” Everyone either laughed or groaned at this suggestion. They had been playing this game since they were all able to run in the park together. While they’d played less frequently over the years, every now and then Josh would still call it, just to have an excuse to climb the dirt hill. Josh loved dirt. He loved that beautiful, earthy smelling dirt hill that grew larger every year, when rain and wind should reasonably have diminished its stature long ago. But some combination of falling leaves and the very wind and rain that should have taken it, just seemed to empower the dirt mound. After a decade, the mound was high enough that standing on its peak, one might just be able to grab the branch of the Apple tree overhead.

Josh wrangled his way to the top, his blonde, shaggy hair turning dark from the amount of dirt he was kicking up, and declared, “I’m the CEO! Now you all have to do what I say! Consume, peasants!” He shouted, echoing the state slogan emblazoned around the planet. Some of the younger kids rather happily did as they were told, and began eating handfuls of dirt. Noise and the others scrambled up the hill, joined hands around the dirt mound and sat down. Josh grabbed a low-hanging apple, sat down at the top of his dirt hill, and took a bite. The taller kids grabbed some more apples and passed them around to the rest of the crew. They sat there, telling stories, giggling and laughing, for a long time. They could smell food from their kitchens, pies cooling on window sills, and clothes hanging out to dry. They were poor, and they knew that, but they were happy and relatively carefree.