The Quiet Pole Race — Every day, Jethan ran the same path around the desert tabernacle, tapping each tent peg with his measuring cord and racing the shadow of the carrying poles before the morning trumpets blew. Read the full story →
Every day, Jethan ran the same path around the desert tabernacle, tapping each tent peg with his measuring cord and racing the shadow of the carrying poles before the morning trumpets blew. He had just invented a game called Quiet Pole Race: if he reached the last peg before the shadow touched the curtain hem, he won. The sand hissed under his sandals, and the wool curtains smelled of sun, dust, and pomegranate dye.
Until one day, a hot wind snapped through the camp and one curtain tie tore loose with a sharp twang. Because of that, the heavy fabric bellied inward toward the sacred chest. Because of that, the priests stopped outside, whispering, and no one noticed Jethan’s bright race cord still warm in his fist. He wanted to keep it; it was the only cord that had ever won three mornings in a row.
Finally, while everyone watched the flapping top edge, Jethan slipped behind a post, knotted his cord through the torn loop, and pulled until the curtain stood straight again. “Run quiet,” he whispered. No one clapped. No one even saw. But when the trumpets sounded, the shadow of the poles lay still, and somewhere in the folds, if you search carefully, Jethan’s winning cord is still racing the morning.
