In the middle of the road is a small spot with pavement and a traffic light.
I've passed it thousands of times without consciously seeing it, but yesterday it was different.
It was covered with flowers, notes and some furr animals.
This was the place where that young girl died, due to a stupid mistake of a truck driver and the commercial pressure not to loose time by following the rules and turning at the next turnabout, about 600 metres from there.
A man with white hair, and artifical sunned skill is hanging on the traffic light with one hand, leaning against it not to take any place.
He looks sad.
It's obvious he's mourning her sudden death.
I planned to take a photo for the paper, but immediately I let it go.
No way I wanted to disturb this froozen image in the busy traffic of the early morning.
My girls wanted to lay flowers there, but after careful consideration we decided it would be best to send a personal card to the parents and rest of the family. They live nearby.
Later, when we are driving home, we pass the same small spot.
It's like a silence is on the road there.
A sadness which will never ever disappear,
and will be gone when the council workers remove the flowers and other expressions of grief.