Last night, while my sons lay safe and warm against me, listening to their bedtime story, children their age in Mariupol listened, frozen and terrified, to the destruction of their lives. Carrying on as normal when people are hiding in cellars as their cities collapse around them feels grotesque, an abdication of humanity. But we have all always done it. Every time you've floated in a warm tranquil sea or lain in the long grass of summer, someone somewhere has been running for their life.
A Love Letter to Stepping Outside.
A Love Letter to Stepping Outside.
A Love Letter to Stepping Outside.
Last night, while my sons lay safe and warm against me, listening to their bedtime story, children their age in Mariupol listened, frozen and terrified, to the destruction of their lives. Carrying on as normal when people are hiding in cellars as their cities collapse around them feels grotesque, an abdication of humanity. But we have all always done it. Every time you've floated in a warm tranquil sea or lain in the long grass of summer, someone somewhere has been running for their life.