Being able to extend the hope on whatever it might be, it is almost surely a process by which all will pass or have passed. Understand is this: not all does that the same way. Some give up immediately, others turn to the saint of his predilection, and others, still, go to the nearest health center. These arguments, deeply personal, and the different life choices, do not go unnoticed on a pilgrimage and there is a tacit agreement visible in the crossing glances. All recognize each other, and yet, nobody talks about it.

Can those clouds that lay there in the back, on the mountains of Galicia, contain the tears of men? And if in fact they are deposited there, how can we gauge the pain that shed them? Should we even try it? Or is it better to let cry the men who desperately pray so we can escape our own sorrows?