The frontline has a weather of its own. Mist mixes with smoke; the wind carries the taste of explosions. Steel and shrapnel fall like rain. In Ukraine, war has become part of the weather. Before going outside, you check your phone for rain and airstrikes. Shelling rumbles like thunder; explosions from up close flash like lightning. I came to the frontline at 18, naive about war and how to describe it. Now, at 23, I still search for an answer. I turn to photography because words feel small. I am tired of metaphors. War is not like anything, but war. It consumes everything, even the weather.
