the eyes of the seraphim

It's a wonderful thing to have guests in town— you end up with a perfect excuse to play the tourist again. Today I relished in wandering around the magnificent Aya Sofya, and though I have known the former church and mosque since I was seven years old, I found myself grinning from ear to ear with a pounding heart, like a child. There are a million and more ways to see something, and my goodness... I never tire of this beauty.



Do buildings have a memory? How many people have stood at this window to behold the Blue Mosque over the centuries?  How many personal histories hang like breath between these walls, under this enormous dome?

My own small history has woven itself around these well-worn columns—
my feet, in various sizes over decades, have helped smooth the stone floor.
The eyes of the seraphim have watched me grow.