There's a song that says "it's later than you think" and it is perhaps lamentable that someone didn't sing it for Henry that beautiful morning....
table. The quick, nervous movement was gone out of her, and she sat like a frozen sparrow.
The farmer looked up and grinned. "Feels good. Just to sit here. Does well for the back and the arms. Been working too hard."
"Henry," the woman said.
The farmer tasted his coffee again. He put the cup on the table and leaned back, tapping his browned fingers. "Just in time, I'd say. Waited any longer, it wouldn't have done any good. Another few years, a farmer wouldn't mean anything."
The woman watched him, her eyes frightened as though he might suddenly gnash his teeth or leap in the air.
"Pretty soon," the farmer said, "they'd have it all mechanical. Couldn't stop anything. Now," he said, smiling at his wife, "we can stop it all."
"Henry, go out to the fields," the woman said.
Farmers all over the world decide to put an end to war by striking--refusing to grow food.
A weak idea has a predictable ending. The writing is good, with nice description.