The Prophet in the Temple Court
The sun, a hammered disk of pale brass, beat down on the Anathoth road. Dust, fine as ground bone, coated Jeremiah’s sandals and the hem of his robe. It was the dust of pilgrims, churned by ten thousand feet all…
Dust, Scroll, and a Promise
The air in Babylon tasted of dust and distant river mud. It was a thick taste, one that clung to the beard and settled in the folds of the robe. Elior felt it now, standing at the threshold of his…
The Promise in the Gloom
The damp chill of the olive press room clung to Elishama’s robes as he worked, the smell of crushed fruit and stone dust thick in the air. From the heights of Jerusalem, the news from the north arrived not as…
The Quiet Side of the Hill
The rain had finally ceased, but the clay path leading up to the ridge was a river of ochre mud. Micah placed his sandaled feet with care, the familiar weight of the woolen satchel across his shoulder. From this height,…
A Psalm in the Mud
The rain had finally stopped, but the mud remained. It clung to Elior’s sandals with a weary persistence, each step a soft, sucking complaint as he made his way from the lower fields back toward the walls of Jerusalem. The…
Creation Bows to the King
We never spoke of it afterward. Not in the forty years that followed, not around the fires at night, not even in whispers when our children asked. Some memories are too heavy for words; they live in the shudder of…
The Divine Council’s Judgment
The ink on the papyrus was dry, but the words still felt wet in Asaph’s mind. It was one of those heavy, bronze-skied evenings in Jerusalem, where the heat of the day pooled in the narrow streets like spilled wine….
The Judge’s Terrifying Mercy
The heat that day was the thick, woolen kind, pressing down on the slopes of Zion until the very stones seemed to exhale dust. I was among the crowd, having come up for the morning sacrifice, the air already heavy…
Psalm of the Cave
The memory of the cave was a cold stone in his belly, even now, years later, seated on a cedar chair smoothed by time. David shifted, the royal purple heavy on his shoulders, and stared at the blank parchment. The…
The Miner’s Lesson
The fire had burned low, a bed of crimson coals pulsing like a tired heart in the hearthstone’s black embrace. Old Elam’s hands, mapped with a lifetime of grime etched deep into the creases, rested on his knees. They were…