We have seen flags waving as signs of aggression, flags waving as signs of resistance. We have seen flags torn, replacements, flags carefully folded and handed over as relics. We have seen flags wrapped around the coffins of the fallen. Flags torn by the fury of the wind and bad weather. Flags torn by the passing of time. War is also made of this: banners, banners, pieces of cloth shining in the sun or torn. In this photograph, against a cloudless sky, a Ukrainian citizen celebrates the withdrawal of the Russian army from Kherson to the eastern bank of the Dnieper. He does so by raising his fist between the flag of his country and that of Europe. And it is the second that strikes me: perhaps because it is unexpected. Perhaps because he is there to say something: but what? A project, a common horizon, an unfulfilled dream, a missed act, a desire, what?