I was in Gyumri, Armenia, in a cold cold late afternoon of December, almost by the end of the year. I was wandering into the old town, and walked into the Orthodox cathedral, to shelter myself from the cold for a moment. The cathedral was immersed in darkness, and a light mist of incense created a unique atmosphere. There were several women, all huddled together, praying with their heads bowed, all covered in heavy coats and woolen handkerchiefs, dimly lit by candlelightI. I stood next to them for a while, then turned myself around and saw a scene that I can still remember very clear after many years. There was a young lady, wearing a dark cape with a hood, kneeling before an altar on which some candles were shining. She was holding a child in her arms, all bundled up, with his cheeks red from the cold. She turned to me, probably having seen me as a ‘foreign’ presence out of the corner of her eye. So I saw her beautiful face, the only thing that candles could illuminate in that darkness, and her big eyes shone out of the incense mist. At that moment I didn’t want to raise the camera out of respect for her and the whole situation, but I really wished I had taken that picture.