spring once more

Spring arrives at the darkest hour for Europe, for the world. But, there, too, is hope. 

As I pick up a king cake and tulips, eat paczki, and search for daffodils - for spring, Mardis Gras, and St. David’s day - the words from the Ukrainian poet Ilya Kaminsky float in my head. 

in the street of money in the city of money in the country of money,

our great country of money, we (forgive us)

 lived happily during the war.

As I buy and search for flowers to mark spring’s arrival, a post on social media stays with me. 

Today, I planned to plant tulips and daffodils in my backyard. Instead, I learn to fire arms. 

War on my continent. Europe. 

The night before the headline in the New York Times: War in Ukraine. Spring comes early to DC, and in the last few days of February, we drink outside after work. With morning, come grey skies, plummeting winter temperatures, and rain - cold rain. This was the morning, in DC, that Russia invaded Ukraine. 

The mood shifts. A new page in history. 

My thoughts turn to the Ukrainians I met in Krakow, in Chicago, in New York, in London. Those I’ve taught remotely in the past. 

And when they bombed other people’s houses, we protested

but not enough, we opposed them but not enough. 

I was in my bed, around my bed America.

I don’t find any daffodils for St. David’s Day, but I buy more tulips. Spring. 

I walk to the bus that takes me to campus, and I notice the world and countries and people around me in the flags that fly outside of embassies. Streets in DC are lined with the representations of sovereign states. 

The first blossom on campus. 

I stop in the park on the way home from the grocery store just to feel the sun on my face. 

I stop in the park on the way home from work to feel the sun on my face and call my family in Europe. 

I drift to the war in Ukraine, Kyiv, the border with Poland, Moldova, and consume the news looking for hope, and sometimes I find it. Often, I just see and find evil. When I am not scrolling through the news, I feel present. Why? I can no longer honestly imagine the future. 

Again, I am reminded of Joan Didion in the months after her death. 

Life changes fast. Life changes in the instant. You sit down to dinner and life as you know it ends.