Abu Hudhayfah Edwards

Most people who met Sister Shahidah at the masjid assumed she had always been calm.

They saw the black niqab, the modest jilbab, the quiet way she sat with her tea after Isha prayer. They saw patience in her stillness and assumed it had always been there.

SUMMARY: Reflections through the loam and undergrowth of the forests on their Creator.

There are forests that seem quiet.

Hamza decided, at exactly 9:17 p.m., that he was done being the oldest.

Saeed thought he understood patience.

I was born into a house that never slept.

Essa was eleven years old, with wide, curious eyes and a quiet way of studying the world. Most people who met him noticed his gentle smile before they noticed anything else.

Nakiyah had always loved how Ahoskie, North Carolina, felt at dusk. Cicadas tuned their small fiddles, and the world seemed to hum like a living drum. On those evenings, the porch at her grandparents’ house became a tiny planet. A dented kettle hissed on the stove.