The Virgin appeared in a window at Mercy Hospital in Springfield MA. The some locals went to “witness” her. Others had to see her on the front page of next days news paper. The picture was blurred.

“A photographer nun I know says that pictures don’t capture miracles well,” one lady said, tipping over her high heels while pouring soy milk into her venti 4-shot latte at the local Starbucks.

“Did you see it?” a man with an orange construction shirt in line asked the lady, overhearing the conversation.

“No, I didn’t” she replied.

“Oh, I did.” he said with a proud smile.

“Have you seen today’s paper?” an elderly man, asked the Batista as he was handing him his coffee. The elderly man was a regular there. Came in everyday and did his crossword. He had lived in Springfield all his life and watched the rows and rows of vineyards that stretched till the river, be bulldozed for the Starbucks that stands here now.

“No, John, I haven’t yet. But I know about the Virgin.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, they say a son was praying for his mother who had just come out of surgery in that very room,” said the young Batista.

“You don’t say,” said the elderly man.

The out of towner, who was sitting in the corner watching all of this commotion about the Virgin of Springfield, couldn’t tell if the chatter was all in mockery or in true belief. When they asked her if she had seen it or the picture in the paper, she answered in the most vague response as possible, not knowing how the locals would react if she told them what she really thought.

After a few hours, the buzz about the virgin was beginning to get sensational.

The out of town-er, decided to leave the Starbucks and go do her work else where. Away from the Virgin.