Field Notes
Body
SOMETIMES THE IMAGES of war are just numbing. The brutality and horror of victims fleeing the ruins of a bombedout school in Zhytomyr or Stanytsia Luhanska, the splintered wreckage of what was once a quiet residential street in Mykolaiv, the flames of an apartment building in Mariupol—it all becomes almost incomprehensible. Scenes of bodies being buried in mass graves and families fleeing their homes carrying the meager remains of their lives in once-cheerful pink backpacks or dreary plastic trash bags are so heartbreaking we are unable to even find sorrow’s edges.