In the Back Yard
If among our very own pine trees we saw mourning doves duking it out with squirrels over three slices of stale Wonder bread, THERE'D BE NO WAR (elsewhere).
If we watched our three distinctively different cats chasing anything that moved while we sat in the grass with a 20 ounce Vernors, THERE'D BE NO WAR.
If the tomatoes were so large and abundant we had to go in the house for a larger basket, THERE'D BE NO WAR.
If we each watched the whites on the clothesline whip in the wind and transform into ethereal spirits as night descended, THERE'D BE NO WAR.
If all our children could run barefoot (by choice) on a green, green lawn without fear of broken glass or land mines, THERE'D BE NO WAR.
And if the fire of fall could simply be permitted to permeate us to our very cores, THERE'D BE NO WAR.
