The Donkey’s Third Stop — By the fig trees, Noam tapped each road stone with his sandal. “Fifty before the bend,” he whispered, trying his hardest not to skip one. Read the full story →
By the fig trees, Noam tapped each road stone with his sandal. “Fifty before the bend,” he whispered, trying his hardest not to skip one. Then Balaam’s donkey clop-clopped ahead, and Noam stepped out from his shady spot to count beside it. Dust tickled his nose. At stone thirty-one, the donkey stopped. Noam bumped his toes and lost his place.
He paid the price with one scraped knee and a sigh. Balaam gripped his staff, puzzled, but the donkey stared at the road as if it held a secret. The air turned cool and bright, like morning hiding in a cloud. Noam forgot his number. He saw why the donkey would not move.
“Maybe this is the right place,” Noam breathed. When the way opened, he walked back to the fig trees carrying no count at all, only the hush of being safe. Next time you see the donkey’s wide eye, can you spot the secret that made Noam stop tapping road stones?
