Depression

The cows won't go out into the mud outside their shelter, the constant drizzle from the low, grey clouds keeps me too indoors and my fire goes out constantly, something is holding back in the chimney. But, it's six degrees warm out there and when I fetched some more wood, I heard at least three little birds singing spring tunes somewhere in shelter of the bushes.
There's hope, anyway.

Radio and television are filled with reports from the Ukraine, because the was has been going on for a full year today. What an anniversary. A day of shame for the human race, some of our leaders and us, the people letting them stay in power. I can understand that. All most of us wants is to live in peace with our neighbour, grow our crops and have our freedom to follow our dreams, not to fight against war, injustice and laws of capitalism, or its opposite, that creates ever widening gaps between *you* and *me*.

Still, the birds sing, most likely also in the Ukraine and hundreds of other war-zones, making people still hope for and believe in some kind of human spring.