Edio Yenye Shavu

He lay there, trembling. The voice had not spoken again. But the presence had not left. It surrounded him. Vast. And strangely gentle. He was not alone. He had never been alone. He rose to his feet. His body was bruised. His sack was gone. The Bible was gone. His staff was gone. Everything had been swept away. But something in his chest had been swept clean as well. The fear was gone. The despair was gone. In their place was a stillness the flood could not touch.