In the land, many surmise that nothing is much amiss.

The estate has suffered its pauses but none the less continues to see its citizenry burgeon. The might of her military is brag-worthy and interest in religion is thriving.

From the south, a dresser of sycamore trees, a breeder of herds, makes his way into the land with a message for the privileged, a litany of shame.

Will the land listen?

Two years before the quake, an issue of grace is orated, “The LORD roars… pastures mourn… Carmel withers.” Amos 1:2

One by one, nation by nation, the prophet declares the pungent state of each people’s hearts, describing in dirge their roles in the social injustices of the land.

Gross cruelty, brotherly betrayal, and disregard for human dignity pinnacle the workman’s list.

A long while later, somber but for the occasional trace of autumn, barely rustling the needles clinging to life; a faint whisper from a land of ago.

Will the land listen?