A Gentle Breath Across the Page

The quiet air of the evening settled around me as a sudden warmth rose beneath my hands. For a long stillness, I had held the wooden cross without feeling its weight. Slowly, my fingers relaxed, then tightened gently around the smooth grain. I turned my gaze down toward the crimson blossom resting against my robes. Touching a drawn petal with my fingertip, I felt the slight, fibrous texture of the paper beneath me. With a quiet exhale, I cradled the cross closer to my chest, completely present in the stillness.