the darkness of kyiv

​I feel a desire to walk the streets of Kyiv at night. Photographs of the darkened city: a young boy playing the accordion on a street corner; a pianist performing in an underpass; a salsa class lit by the dancing light of cell phones; a woman in a high window holding a candle to the night. The images belie the suffering, of course. There’s an artistry, a beauty to the photographs. War is often made if not pretty, then rich in meaning, by a camera. This war seems unfounded and meaningless, yet in the darkness and the suffering there’s a comradery.

The darkness of Kyiv holds a lesson for our own country, our own country’s darkness. Some people carry lights out into it and others close the door and wait for the night to pass. All those hours inside and winter coming on. Fearful times for many and rumors spread, yet those in the streets enjoy a surprising fellowship. Who carries the lights outside? Who sits inside in the dark? Who shares the last stub of a candle? Who refuses the flame?

​As a country, I believe we are learning how to maneuver in this darkness. We have learned there’s room for our very different responses to darkness or difficult times. Here in Arizona it’s snowing and the darkness comes early, yet it’s interrupted by the lights city people believe will protect them from misfortune. Sometimes they blind us instead. The streets are lit up from without and within. I watch a man on the corner pull his wallet from his pocket and count his money. A family next door plays a board game until dinnertime. We cannot imagine telling stories by candlelight, or walking the dog by the light of its blinky collar. There’s a teaching quality to darkness. A beauty I hope we are able to relearn.