These Sober Sisters are not Attracted by Cosmetics
Perhaps they were two dozen women, possibly less. They were glued to the wooden floor, just like geese or storks flying in formation, being pushed by time and the winds and currents above the clouds from the wintery Europe to Morocco. No sound or movement by the frail bodies, dressed in their simple brown habit. Just the arms stretched out, and their eyes focused on a statue of Mary, the ever-blessed mother of Jesus Christ, son of ...