I glanced out of the window on Wednesday afternoon and saw that the sun was shattering through the clouds: a perfect Recoleta Cemetery sky. I abandoned my piece of work and rushed to get to the cemetery office before it closed, to pick up an allowed-to-take-photos permit. It felt like I had been summoned.

Someone important was being entombed and I arrived to penetratingly sad music and a line of men in sombre uniform. Sometimes I almost forget that it is a place where people continue to be buried. To make myself as invisible as possible, I veered off one of the main streets, into unexplored territory.

Words of disbelief spilled out of my mouth as I came upon this radiant being. I don’t know who she is, but she mesmerised me with her serene pose, translucent face and robes of sapphire, ruby and gold. She has all the glow of a Pre-Raphaelite beauty painted by the likes of Rossetti. Her head inclines towards the reflected cross, as if to show her religious calling. In the absence of a name for her, I’m entitling this one Holy contemplation.