Kedem’s Starry Belonging — Before the moon climbed high, Kedem tapped his crooked staff on the dust—tok, tok, tok—and hurried past the low roofs of the desert village. Read the full story →
Before the moon climbed high, Kedem tapped his crooked staff on the dust—tok, tok, tok—and hurried past the low roofs of the desert village. He wanted to reach the highest sheep trail before the star-singers began. His coat fringe snapped in the warm wind, and the lambs bounced after him like white puffs shaken from a pillow. “Save me a front-row rock!” he called to the shepherds ahead.
On the ridge, stars wheeled in bright loops over palms and sleeping houses. Kedem lifted his staff to count them the way his mother had taught him: one bend for guiding, one hook for helping, one smooth place for holding. The other shepherds grinned and raised their staffs too, making a forest of curves against the sky.
Then the smallest lamb nosed Kedem’s staff and bleated at its hidden carving—a tiny star cut into the wood. Every shepherd on the ridge had one. The plain stick was not plain at all; it was their sign that this trail, this wind, this sparkling night was home. Next time you see the raised staff, see if you can find where the star-singers would answer Kedem’s tok, tok, tok.
