It is going to be in the mid 60’s today and I need to clean up my yard. The front yard looks like I’ve given up, and the weeds have won the war. If I had a flag flying in my front yard I would expect it to be white, with a picture of Winter weeds holding my severed hands in victory. They haven’t won just yet though. I’ve headed out side in my uniform. The torn and stained pants, long sleeve shirt, and hat signal that it’s time to wage war. I plan to dig in and come out dirty. The wind blows and the weeds shiver, but I believe it was not the wind, but a shiver of fear. They know I’m coming for them. My army is coming with me, and they are ready to wage war. I must admit they are here after many protests, these I think are more about hating chores than a disgust for war. They are less conscientious objectors, and more you are cutting into my computer time objectors. Nonetheless they are here. As I step into the sun I hear The Flight of the Valkyries, Or is it The Battle Hymn of the Republic playing in my head. My weapons of mass destruction are ready. The rake, shears, and plastic bags are prepared to dislodge these insurgents. Like all insurgents they will return and try to disrupt daily life, but this is my land and they will not win, we will persevere. The battle lasted an hour and a half and in the end we were victorious. The body bags (leaf bags) have been filled, and unceremoniously dumped at the curb, ready for their removal. I have planted the flag of Rizzo back in my front yard, a warning to all others that this is my land, and any weeds that try to take it from me will meet the same fate.