It felt like the last day of summer. On a Sunday afternoon in late September, people in Kyiv strolled through the city’s botanical gardens, admiring the late-flowering dahlias. Later, the terraces in the Podil area – a neighbourhood full of bars, patisseries and bookshops – filled up with customers in search of a cocktail.
The idyll was an illusion. As the day darkened, the air defence began its rumble and boom. When a projectile fell with an explosive smack on a bar table, the drinkers flinched and then laughed. It was only a conker from the chestnut tree overhead. Nursing a glass of rosé, writer Myroslav Laiuk talked about the picnic he and his wife had had the previous evening, in a park in the Obolon district – prosecco in proper glasses, cheese and charcuterie. Then a drone was shot down above their heads. Very pretty, he said, with a smile. Shooting stars. Time to make a wish.
