Nights in the Sacred Grove

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