I am often a creature of habit. I awaken at close to the same time every day. Spend an hour in bed reading the news, doing my puzzles, writing my gratitude list, listening to the quiet, meditating and contemplating my day.
I get up. Take Beaumont the Sheepadoodle for a quick morning meander to do his business, Come back in the house. Turn on my morning music which is always the same playlist of Alternative Classical music. Make coffee.Sit down at my desk. Open my laptop. Begin to type.
Usually, I have no idea what words will appear or what thoughts will arise.
I let the words and my morning flow like the river outside my window.
These days, the sun stays sleeping until much later than me, rising up well after 8am.
I spend my mornings in the comfort of darkness.
Lights from cars carrying workers towards the city car flicker as they cross the bridge, their stream intermittent, like an erratic jazz beat pulsing in time to the unseen rhythm of the musician’s mind.
This morning, an errant thought flits through my mind as I fill the kettle for my coffee.
Earlier, I’d read about the ongoing onslaught of Russian missiles against Ukraine’s energy infrastructure.
Vast swathes of the country lie in darkness, no heat, no light, no water.
I woke up this morning. Darkness covered the sky holding on to the last vestiges of night before the sun turned dark to light.
I wandered from the bedroom, turned up the heat, turned on the kitchen lights and filled my kettle with water.
Darkness still holds the night, I still have power, heat, light, water.
I am grateful for my comforts.
I cannot turn the lights back on in Ukraine. I do not have the power to stop missiles flying and battles raging.
I can only say a prayer of gratitude for what I have and prayers for peace to come for those whose lives have been so terribly disrupted by one man’s desire for dominance over an entire nation, he brought war to their lands and cities, homes, and lives.
There is no sense in war. Only death and destruction. When the guns are silenced, the victors and the vanquished will never return to what was. Too much has been destroyed.
When the missiles stop firing, the destruction will be swept away and factories, buildings and homes will be rebuilt.
How do you rebuild safety for children who are cowering in basement cellars while bombs fall day and night?
How do you heal the wounds no one can see?
We might ask as Pete Seeger did in 1955 when he released, Where Have All the Flowers Gone, “Where have all the young men gone?“.?
They have gone to a war they did not ask for, did not want. In the end, for those who do return to rebuild what was lost, we must never stop asking, “When will we ever learn?”