The Prince at the Eastern Gate
The memory of that morning is etched into me, not as a law carved on stone, but as a scent carried on the cold air—a mixture of incense, animal hide, and dew-damp earth. I was young then, serving among the…
The Heart’s Idols
The heat in Jerusalem that summer was a physical presence. It didn’t just hang in the air; it pressed down on the stone, seeped into the shaded alleyways, and made the very dust of the streets feel like grit in…
The Last Sight of Judah
The air in Jerusalem had tasted of dust and despair for months. Not the clean, dry dust of the field, but a gritty, ashen powder that rose from the shattered houses beyond the second wall and clung to the back…
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….