There she stood, with her arms open, in her white dress and blue veil. There she was in her little temple, in her little window on the world. She was tired of that position, she wanted to move, but she could not. That was her destiny. To be Mary, to be a Virgin, to be still. She could see so many people passing by, but almost none of them turned towards her. She had few devotees. In particular, there was an old lady dressed in black, who always came at dawn to pray in front of her. At that time of the day there were not many people walking around and she could establish an intimate moment with the old lady. Her whispered words, her words of pain and anguish were like a set of mini knives for her ears. Pain always was. After ten or so minutes, the old lady usually kissed her good-bye and left. And there she stood, alone again, alone and still.