Change is in our bones. Our power grows on the winter solstice, in the new year, when tender buds first taste the sun, when we smell the first decaying breeze of autumn. Sameness, conformity - these are our quiet killers. Put us in a box and we wither, our spirits sapping from fingertips. Death is preferable to the shackles of monotony.

Yet woe be to our captors on a Midsummer’s night, on a child’s birthday, on the passing of an elder, on a butterfly’s first flight. Woe be to our captors when we remember that Change is God! When we remember that We are Gods…