Hands down, my longest song. And also the song that took the longest to write. The first time I ever saw Russia, I was stunned by the trees. I didn't expect trees. Cold War child that I am, I expected frozen tundra, I suppose. But there, circling all of Moscow, were incredible birch forests. Our first interpreter called the "loop" we traveled --that very first night, as we arrive quite late in the evening, outside of Moscow-- a "circular highway." Even though this was clearly not an exact translation for "loop," I thought it so debonair that I left it in the song.

Just about everything in that first verse actually happened. There really were trucks, seemingly pulled off for the night, on the way from one place to another. It was late. And I was stunned by these tall, stately birches. And in the midst of a jet-lagged stupor, they did look a little bit like home.

The third verse didn't happen until an whole year later. I was back in Russia a second time. And I was spending an afternoon at the family dacha ("country house"....more like a rustic cabin, really) of the Malkov's, friends we've gotten to know pretty well there. It was an incredible afternoon. We swam in the Volga: a river broader and wider than the the "mighty" Missisippi. We had "shashlik," a Russian shishkabob. Of course, there were vodka toasts to Russian-American friendship. The Russians sang folk songs about the Volga....lot's of songs about loving girls and getting your heart broken, as I recall.

Late into the day and the Vodka, the Malkov's grandfather took me aside and told me an amazing story about his World War Two experiences. He had been in an infantry company, engaged in hand-to-hand bayonet combat. Very near the end of the war, he found himself on the front lines in Germany, marching toward the "prize" of Berlin. He teared up as he told the story. Just one of every three men survived as they pushed on toward Berlin.

"And for what?" he asked. "So we could capture Berlin? It wasn't worth it...."

Then, he told of the day when, suddenly, the fighting stopped and he looked out to see divisions of American GIs, looking back at him. As the war ended, and world leaders were busy carving up their Cold War blueprints, the Americans and Russians found themselves for several weeks, there in the middle of Germany, with nothing to do but sing, dance and drink. He told me he always liked those Americans, that they had been nice guys, these young boys he'd known fifty years ago.

And then, turning to me, he said, "And now, here you are again."

As if my being there that day completed some grand circle of his life. As if friendships, torn apart for fifty years, and world's separated by politics and all that goes with it, got magically mended.

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Sam Keen's book, "Faces of the Enemy" has had a profound impact on my life. I highly recommend it to anyone. Although the end of the Cold War has dated it some, it's basic themes about the horrific psycology "enemy-making" are still valid. How incredible it was, in those days of the early 90's, to watch myself as I made friends with the "enemy."

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Just after telling me his story, Grandfather Malkov turned to his two grandsons --one in college and one in junior high, who were wrestling, as brothers do, down a garden path surrounded by lush tomatoes, cucumbers and roses. He looked at them, with some concern, and said "These kids, they don't know any of this....they don't understand." And then, he turned to me in dead serious earnestness and, pointing a boney finger, said, "You....you must teach them!