November 5, 2012 at 8:51 am in Pine Journal
The air was filled with tension so thick you could cut it with a knife. I found myself tiptoeing around on our hardwood floors, afraid that the sound of a good, solid footstep might ignite passions far beyond anything we were prepared to cope with. The two of us Ken and I were communicating at a near-whisper so we didn’t give away our strategical plan of attack prematurely.
This was war.