A young child — born on the long road across the desert, who has never known anything but walking — wanders down to the edge of the ruins and looks around in wonder at the only home she'll ever remember beginning. AVIVA sees her. She kneels, and plucks a soft, familiar three-note figure on the harp — the lullaby. AVIVA. (singing the lullaby's last lines to the child, a tearful smile) Hush now, little bird... the desert is behind us. (she gestures out at the ruined, golden, waking city) Open your eyes... we are home. On the final shimmering, unresolved chord of the harp, the entire company lifts their arms toward the morning sun rising over Jerusalem — the elders left behind, the mother, the city that was a song, all of it carried here in two arms and one voice. The light flares to a brilliant, blinding white. BLACKOUT. END OF PLAY.
