It’s a Wednesday morning in mid-December. I sit eating breakfast alone at my kitchen table, listening to the news while glancing at the day’s headlines in the New York Times. Ten time zones away, Eastern Aleppo is falling to Russian-backed Syrian government troops. There are reports of eyewitness accounts of terrified citizens being shot as they flee their homes. No one is immune to the brutality. Not women or children or the invalid man in a wheel chair.

My appetite squashed under the weight of the unfolding tragedy, I push my uneaten plate aside and stare into space, conjuring an…

Holly Hubbard Preston

Writer & Unaffiliated Humanist

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