A week ago I filled an old hiking backpack with an assortment of things I might need in the next several months and said good-bye to my apartment with full uncertainty about when I will next return. “Never” did not cross my mind. Tonight in Lviv the air is chilly but with the texture of spring. I have to make a certain effort to keep sensing the war when it’s happening somewhere further away. Still my legs tingle as I think of the thousand or so people in Mariupol who remain underground in the tunnels of the Azovstal plant, which Putin has ordered to seal off, as if to exterminate them.
Dear Readers, the last paragraph that appeared in the email version of this text has been removed for maintenance (i.e. further thought and revision). Thank you for understanding.
The last paragraph of this text has been modified since it was first published and shared via email.
Dear Readers, the last paragraph that appeared in the email version of this text has been removed for maintenance (i.e. further thought and revision). Thank you for understanding.