MA brought me sunflowers as a thank you for dog-sitting Luna. Real sunflowers, half my height with thick tree-like stems and meaty leaves. They smell wonderfully un-flower-like, like food and comfort. I wonder if those sunflowers are an accidental gesture or if she knew. Sunflowers are the symbol of my home, of my identity. My mum says her folk planted sunflowers and corn along the fence, so that no space gets wasted.

We had another rainstorm today. After the rain, the forest was dripping with fresh water, the clouds were golden, the air tangy and pure.

An 18 year old budding illustrator was killed today in Kharkiv by russian shelling. No matter how much you let yourself feel the pain, it’s not enough.