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  • Writer's pictureKatherine Davies

we are all Ukrainians

Letting go of the noise... what do we care about?

Loved ones, safely walking down the street. A kind shopkeeper, teacher at the gate, a smile and a wave.

Train's late, again, but you're happy for the couple who make it through the doors. Gardens flash by. You spot an old tree. The carriage slows. Leaves on the track. The conductor cracks a bad joke. You share a smile with a stranger.

At work, the boss can't see the obvious, but your colleagues are well, and the new guy made you laugh.

You're tired. But you hear the dog scratching at the door. Keys on the hook. The smells of home.

By the thump on the stairs, you know your teenage child won't want to talk, but will agree to share a meal. For a moment, you try to remember what it was like at that age... and think of your mother. He glances at you, before returning to battle with his peas.

Who's turn is it to wash the dishes? The little one squeals "me!"

The bed feels warm and soft. It's quiet.

Birdsong breaks the silence. Spring is coming.

Peace. Ordinary peace.

A sacred dream to the people of Ukraine huddled with children below ground.

Did we imagine Putin's boot would leap out of history and threaten Europe?

Did we ever think our children would hear the words "dark clouds over Europe"?

"I looked around my home," the young woman said to me near the Ukraine border, "and in an instant, all the things of my life ceased to matter" recalling the moment she threw a case together to flee with the children. We all can imagine this moment, it takes less than a breath.

Beneath the noise... we are all Ukrainians.

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