Aya Sophia

The vast, open room is full of silent people. The dangling chandeliers demand hushed whispers. From the painted roof, all the gods are watching. Once it was Jesus and the apostles, then Allah and all of everything; now a cult of tourists.

The awe speaks less of the truth of God and more of the human capacity for belief and greatness. High windows let light in, greet the perfect glow of hats sitting top the heads of architect believers.

Lean out over the gallery and think that for this flash there are no questions, only answers.