#devota

Sacred and blessed.

The saint with the whiteness of lilies that, together with martyrdom’s red dew, made the pure of spirit of independence flourish.

His saint would rise slowly to Him, purified by the filters of the tree and transformed into an essence, distilled in a smell of incense which at night, [...] rises towards Him like a silent prayer.

Something still unknown to us had seized the soul of our ancestors at that moment: the strange feeling that an invisible force was changing the destiny of our people.