Sitting in the
redwood grove watching Henry IV Part 2 on a late August night, I understand why
the Greeks considered groves to be sacred— observing, with all senses, the fog
wraithing down through the trees; lanterns like stars or prophetic planets moving among
them up the hill; the death-defying words, poetry, drama, resounding at their
heart; the king-to-be stepping a telling step at the edge of the wooden stage; his hesitation at the edge of darkness to grow up, assume the burdens of the
world. I sat as always there
feeling sheltered, cherished, consoled, gladdened. Felt a kind of hushed awe at being held within the circled
columns of the venerable old redwoods, where Shakespeare Santa Cruz for a few weeks each summer creates magic.
image: Festival Glen, UC Santa Cruz
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