In the little house, Brigid waited for the big lady to leave. She wanted peace, and the special sound of wind when no one was around. Kneeling people interrupted the woosh of air that made her forgetful. Kneeling people made her remember everything about praying and wanting things outside her little house. This was a House for Not Praying, for Not Wanting. But all these big people came. A miracle had happened here and she couldn't get rid of them. The gravel she laid out specially over what had been soft grass cut into their old knees and young knees and in-between knees and they still came. Brigid knew herself what it felt like to kneel in gravel, she had tried it in the night in the dark when she laid out to comfort herself. She knelt down on the covered lawn looking at the silhouette of the house black against that night blue and felt the rough injury to her knees and she was comforted. It hurt, so the people would go away. And if they didn't go away, at least they wouldn't kneel and remind her of wanting, of what it feels to humble yourself before a thing you need.