The Line of Walkers

I am one of a long line of people walking across the desert. The line stretches left and right to the horizon and beyond.

We walk slowly at the same speed, carefully looking at the ground we are walking over.

I notice that the person walking next to me is a child. I don’t remember seeing her before; she must be new.

After a while, she asks me, “Why are we walking this way?” I answer, “We are looking for God.”

We walk in silence, and then she asks, “Why are we walking in a line?” “It is the most efficient way to find something we have lost.”

We walk on through the desert, which is scattered with scrubby bushes growing in cracks in the ground.

When the line of walkers comes up to a bush, those nearest stop and wait to see if it starts burning. When it doesn’t, they hurry to catch up with the line.

A walker five or six places away from me bends down and picks up a scrap of parchment. He turns it one way and another, trying to read what is written on it. Finally, he lets it go, and it blows away on the wind.

Farther on, I see a flat stone on the ground. I pick it up and find that it is covered with cuneiform script. I hold it for a while, but since I can’t read it, I shake my head to the child and drop it back on the ground.

The child sees the bush and the parchment and the stone without question. Finally, she asks me, “Why are we all walking in the same direction?”