Soldiers to Butterflies

Who do you pray to for some yearned for stasis? On your knees to the Versace clad ‘saints’ of the sun and the moon in the candle wax covered churches? Or down by the water to dark Maximon with cigars and liquor and something forbidden in a small wooden box?

Perhaps the only real salvation is to change with everything else and embrace the peace of letting go. Gently raked and spread, and dried in the sun like the coffee beans across the hills. When they crack and pop, they are transformed, from ‘soldiers’ to ‘butterflies’.