Though the calendar still reads February, we already seem to be emerging from a winter that failed to fully arrive. It snowed once or twice, never sticking much at all and melting within a few hours. And now, as buds are swelling and early blossoms are bursting forth, the bare trees of winter are poised to once again launch themselves into the ecstatic verdancy of spring.

Just after writing that first paragraph, I went out for a walk on my lunch break. While looking for plum blossoms to photograph, I began to receive news alerts on my phone. War had begun.

I went to bed worried, and woke after a fitful sleep to see videos of explosions, airstrikes, and protests.

The pursuit of plum blossoms now feels trite. Frivolous. Unjustifiable.