Roxanne Nagarwalla

In the peak of night, the lonely light of the moon languidly pours itself across the wooden floor. The hickory tree creaks with the sway...

So attached to the human form, it is hard not to take things personally. Violently. Maliciously. Because I am a person, or so I think. I...

The wild woman is refusing to be domesticated, muzzled, silenced, weakened. In the blissfulness of solitude she retreats to the water,...