(The stage is bare and awash in a low light and we hear songbirds and other creatures performing their wonderful incantation to life. The houselights fade and the natural sounds build to a wonderful crescendo. Lights, upstage center, come up and we see the most ancient of all existence, THE GRANDMOTHER, her flesh is bark, her legs are sturdy trunks, her arms, elegant green limbs, and her face, the rich soil. She holds a very large wooden staff in her hand. She is a magnificent sight to behold. The incantation fades out. On each of her first three words THE GRANDMOTHER brings her staff down to the ground with a mighty crash.) THE GRANDMOTHER: Fear! (The ground quakes.) Greed! (The wind blows.) War! (The thunder rolls as lightening strikes the top of her staff and lights on stage suddenly come up to full with a blinding flash. We are now somewhere in Iraq, afternoon, a war-zone. The dead bodies of many Iraqi men, women and children and US and coalition troops are scattered about.)
(The Weaver's Song)