Beneath the Sparrow’s Wing

The wind moves softly through the olive leaves,

a whisper older than the stones we stand upon.

Fear clings like dust to the hem of the day,

yet the sky holds its blue without trembling.

A sparrow drops into the courtyard,

its small heart beating against the silence—

and I remember: not one falls unseen,

not one is forgotten in the gaze that made the light.

The shadows lengthen, but they do not own the earth.

The voice that called the sea to stillness

calls my name in the marrow of my bones,

and courage rises like bread in the warmth of His hands.