Shakespeare in the park

It was still quite light when my friends and I spread our picnic blanket and started sharing out our food and wine. The play began: lighthearted, full of wordplay and banter and over-the-top characters. The stage was an herb garden, and now and then the scent of mint or basil from a leaf bruised by an actor's foot or hand would drift to us.

As evening came on and the clouds turned pink, the cockatoos cried harshly; the play darkened with the sky. Deceit, betrayal, injustice, false honor, false shame, false pride — then, at last, the slow, sick realization of error and the frantic need to put things right. And the incomprehensible, unlooked-for, miraculous second chance. This was no frivolous evening's entertainment.

Seeing Much Ado About Nothing like this — performed outdoors, simply and skillfully, watched with friends and good food and good wine — is the way it ought to be.