Are the days of the saints over? Where are the sweet forms that filled childhood dreams? They used to come down from the iconostasis and share the children's toys. Now they are back in their place and with a fixed look they are waiting. Did they keep quiet or did we desert "in faraway lands"? Does god still send his friends to live among us? Where is; What they say; Are they listening to us? Why are they silent? The soul aches to hold on to incense-smoked images and yellowed leaves of old synagogues, "No more miracles," cries the haughty mind. The clay eyes see nothing but programs and numbers. But the eyes of the heart pierce the infinite, looking for the incredible. Then the sky opens and angelic voices fill the air. His soul calms down and he becomes a child again, who got wild out there, but now he has found his friends again and a big hug, to perch on again. He was looking for spots and monsters to style himself. And now the moment has come for him to find in this embrace the greatest miracle of all.