My study has two door-sized windows, one facing north toward our swimming pool, the other west across a brook into primeval woods. Henry sleeps in the easy chair by the west-facing window. Often, in daylight, he stands on the chair on his hind legs staring for stirring in the trees. A rabbit, deer, squirrel, chipmunk, woodchuck, skunk, even a stray leaf may set him yapping, which can be annoying when napping. “Henry, stop!” I scold. His big eyes beg permission to give chase. “No,” I repeat, “No!”

These days I feel like Henry as I stare into the headlines. So many threats I could be yapping always, disrupting the calm.

Jane and I enjoyed ourselves on No Kings Day. The weather in Poughkeepsie was serene, the Hudson River glassy, the autumn foliage at its most colorful. The brevity of autumn’s perfection invariably startles. Blink and the trees are stripped.

The crowd was amiable, convivial, neither fierce nor forlorn. Security was probably ubiquitous, but none obvious. Folks of all ages waved humorous signs. Henry tugged in all directions, sniffing mates. Two burly hirsute bikers I’d have mistaken for MAGA warriors, prejudice is so infectious.

Gladness and sadness mingled as we motored home. Here was America at its best, the America of the village green, where neighbors revel in community, notwithstanding differences, where we wish the best for one another. And here, on the news, was our President, streaming a cartoonish image of himself as King spewing feces on his subjects, mocking us as marginal, impotent haters of America. How could these two images represent the same reality? Where had we the people gone so sadly badly wrong?

I have seen mental illness up close, how paranoia can turn sweet minds murderous. One day a victim’s smiling, the next scowling, the next rampant, in fear for their life. No words avail. Sufferers may have to be subdued to forestall calamity.

I believe America’s gone mad. Cynical greedy villains inflame the weak-minded for their perceived advantage, feeding them lies, fomenting panic. The more frightened, the more dangerous, the likelier to resort to violence in self-defense. Shoot or be shot. Who in their right mind could applaud the policies promoted by the Nameless One and his goons? Undermine our institutions, deprive the poor, fatten the rich, wage war on our cities, pursue vendettas, cripple our economy? For most of my life, both political parties had ideals, if different ideas. Ideas one can debate. Insanity insulates its victims from discussion. Your enemy is out to get you. Strike first. Do or die.

For a decade I’ve been barking my head off, but what good’s barking if I’m viewed as Cerberus? We must wage war until the war is won, civilization and civility restored, and the rebuilding of our ravaged nation can commence.

But we have no weapons, we fret. How can we wage war unarmed?

On No Kings Day we paraded our tanks and rockets. Our arsenal is amply stocked – with people. Five-plus million assembled peaceably. The next time – and may it be soon – may that number be ten – and the next twenty. See if they can smear grannies and nursing moms and you and me as haters of the land we love! See how many of us think a King bombing us with feces is funny.

One day soon, the Nameless One will order the military to attack objectors to his regime. Numbers will decide whether the soldiers obey their commander or remove him. Wanna bet the Nameless One and his loved ones will be winging their way to their dacha in Rublyovka?