one of her many secrets was that the refuge sought
by those who felt the need to withdraw
was actually no other than that readily granted
to all those who remained immersed in the everyday.



being boundless,
many had the impression
that she was homeless.

yet her door was always open
—even to them.



hers was a familiar darkness.



by hiding,
she revealed herself.



some found it necessary to weather the storm
when the light rained down in a torrent,
and so sought shelter in the shade.
others, even if blinded, remained
until sodden with light.
and then there were those rare few
who seemed to be washed away
as easily and completely as their shadows...



of course there was a beyond.
yet it could only be found
by scrutinizing those things,
so often overlooked,
lying close at hand.



the errant too
would stumble upon her,
though unknowing
they often remained.



there was never any need for tears
for the earth wept skyward.



resting in her shadow,
it was the little things
which tended to be
the most certain.


some spoke of having met her once,
others of their closeness and familiarity,
yet it was the mute who tended to provide
the surest glimpse.



wherever her gaze fell
another altar would be found.



the fearless discovered
that there was no shore—
she would always remain
and without horizon.



for some life became so overwhelming
that they resorted to pleas
which they mistakenly thought were left unheeded;
while the fortunate simply realised
that the sky was an answer in itself.



by the lines of existence,
she would always remain.


just so you know...

Wedding the images of Roxana Ghita with text by Michael Tweed, the beautiful foolishness of things is the gentle companion to however fallible: the revolution of everyday life.

Unless otherwise noted all images © Roxana Ghita, text © Michael Tweed.