I had a dream that when we die, the story of our life is added to the universe.

A good life becomes light. A bad life becomes dark energy that sends the heavens spinning apart.

So we decide our fate.

(Image from the James Webb telescope)

Something has devoured my flowers.

I suspect it was the deer. A family of deer (buck, doe, and two fawns) have been coming to the parkish place behind my apartment for a couple of weeks. They are beautiful, and wild, and tame, and charming. They have no fear of humans, or their dogs, though if you approach they will grudgingly move on.

They come most often in the late afternoon, and I can see them as I sit writing. Sometimes I find them hiding from the sun under a large pine tree in the front, as I walk out to get the mail. The fawns are a few weeks old at most, and I can see their legs trembling still as they stand and munch the grass, or the leaves that have fallen during the frequent summer storms.

I had planted the flower seeds sometime in June, in the 10x4 patch of ground that serves for a garden in front of my porch. I don’t recall what kind of flowers they were. I had ordered a packet of seeds for flowers that would attract butterflies. They had grown to about 8 to 10 inches tall, the largest with broad oval-shaped leaves, handsome and not at all delicate. They had not flowered, so I don’t know what kind or color they would have been. And now I will never know. '

When I woke this morning and looked out, all of the leaves had been eaten, leaving bare slender stalks standing like small green telephone poles, or an invasion of tiny slender aliens. Perhaps they will grow leaves again. But I doubt it.

I was angry at first – these are the first of anything that I had planted myself (though honestly I did little more than disturb the ground and sprinkle). And water faithfully, as instructed. But now, I suppose I can’t blame the deer; they have offered fair trade, beauty for beauty.

Perhaps beauty is the price of beauty, always a trade, beauty like energy being never created nor destroyed. The law of conservation of beauty. Perhaps that applies to many areas of life, as well, all things in balance on the seesaw of eternity.

Perhaps. But until the deer start hovering delicately over my garden like butterlies, I will regret the loss of my flowers.

Photo by Kristina Paukshtite: https://www.pexels.com/photo/blue-white-and-red-poppy-flower-field-712876/

The thunderstorm donates its wares

On highly indiscriminate grounds

Till finally in the slight depression

Where the reeling hills converge

The rivulet begins

Then quickly vanishes. And yet

If I were thirsty I'd wait there

As whispering clouds discretely gather

Circulate and merge before

Dispensing life.

I’m always thirsty.

And always waiting.

"And therefore sit you down in gentleness 
And take upon command what help we have
That to your wanting may be minister'd."
As You Like It

Almost 25 years ago, I adapted and directed a production of William Shakespeare's As You Like It at the Annapolis Summer Garden Theatre. It became one of my most fulfilling and enjoyable theater experiences. Thank you to ASGT and the wonderful and talented cast, crew, and production staff who joined this journey to the forest of Arden.

I recently came across my notes for the script. It brought back so many great memories that I decided to publish this adaptation. 

As You Like It is in the public domain of course. This adaptation, set entirely in the forest of Arden and compressed from five acts to two, may be presented on the stage royalty-free (including the set design, prologue, and stage directions).