Anicca: Impermanence
All conditioned things arise and pass. Grapes on the vine of Sibmah swell toward their sweetest week, and that same week the soldiers come up the road; ripeness and ruin keep the same calendar. Fruit at its heaviest is already bending the branch toward the ground.
Vipariṇāma-dukkha: The suffering of change
Pleasant things hurt when they turn. On these terraces the shout at harvest should be the treaders' song, and instead the shout that lands is the war cry: same voices, same hillside, one sound swapped for another. Nothing was lost from a bare field, so the pain is exactly the size of the sweetness that stood there first.
Piyehi vippayogo: Parting from what is dear
Separation from the loved is suffering. Sibmah's vine gets called by name, the way a family names the one tree in the yard everyone grew up under, and now it is gone by name too. Grief tracks love; where nothing was cherished, nothing is missed.
Parideva: Lamentation
Grief that comes out loud. Watering Heshbon and Elealeh with tears pours salt water onto ground that used to drink from channels, the weeping standing in for a vintage that will not run this year. Lamentation is honest, and like the harvest it mourns, it has its season and passes.
Vera: Enmity
Hostility held and answered back. A battle shout falling on the summer fruits is enmity arriving at harvest time, the crop of something planted seasons earlier in council rooms and border raids. Feuds ripen on their own slow schedule, and someone is always standing in the field when they come due.
Karuṇā: Compassion
The heart trembling at another's pain. Weeping with the weeping of Jazer means picking up a stranger's grief and singing it as your own, and Moab is the rival next door, the neighbor whose fall could easily have been watched dry-eyed. Tears that cross a border like that come from seeing plainly: a burnt vineyard is a burnt vineyard, whoever owned it.