My alarm goes off at 5:45 AM in a hotel room in Kyiv. It’s cold, and it’s dark, and I stay huddled under my blanket for a few minutes, listening to the news and cuddling with Zhuzhik.
I get up, make a cup of coffee, and have a cigarette. And then it’s time for layers: t-shirt. Long-sleeved shirt. Fleece jacket. Heavy coat. Boots. My winter hat, because it’s cold, and I am old, and I am bald. Zhuzik is tougher than I am, so, for him, it’s just a leash. We walk an hour to the memorial to the dead on the Maidan. I am no more religious than Zhuzhik is–he’s a dog–but we like to say a prayer at the American flag for our fallen compatriots. And another at my battalion’s flag–most of our dead were killed while in clearly marked medical vehicles. Another at the flag of the Ukrainian Volunteer Army, those wonderful guys whose only pay is the opportunity to fight for freedom. A fourth for everyone else: Emma, the Catalan girl, killed in a clearly marked humanitarian vehicle. Pete Reed, killed standing next to his clearly marked humanitarian vehicle. Chris Parry and Andrew Bagshaw, two Brits, killed in a clearly marked humanitarian vehicle.
It starts to rain, and I reach up to adjust my hat. It has disappeared somewhere, and the rain is cold on my old, bald head. But, it could be worse: somewhere out there, there’s a Ukrainian soldier standing guard in a trench, and the rain is cold on his old, bald head.
The rain turns to sleet, a windblown mixture of rain and hail. And somewhere out there, there’s a Ukrainian soldier standing guard in a trench, in that windblown mixture of rain and hail.
We walk past the St. Sophia church. Across the wide, flat stone square, the wind blows the sleet into waves. And somewhere out there, there’s a Ukrainian soldier in a trench, and across the broad, flat steppes, the wind blows the sleet into waves.
We get back to our room. Zhuzhik shakes himself off and curls up on my duffle bag. I put on water for a cup of coffee and strip down: wet coat, wet boots, wet pants. And then I’m dry. And somewhere out there, there’s a Ukrainian soldier in a trench.
