"Rainy Night" Play Thank You

A short and heartfelt thank you to CASI Senior Theatre, actors and director, who performed my one act play "Rainy Night."

And, a second thanks to the audience and your positive reaction. After the September performance, we look forward to an encore.

An Editing Exercise

Bench for All Seasons

On a cloudless Midwest spring day, a dawn visitor sits to squint into the golden splendor of a dazzling, radiant sun. Atop the crest of a small bluff, four sturdy A-frame metal poles with concrete feet shoulder the visitor’s bulk with the help of a horizontal bar sporting eyehooks from which hangs a park bench with arms. The bench’s seat no more than an average knee height above grass and compacted dirt. This one bluff within the environs of Raspberry Island rises above constructed asphalt walking paths that sprawl like a clump of worms wiggling for freedom. On the bench, resting one’s body or catching a breath, there’s a visage to behold, replete with nature’s full arsenal of aromas, sounds, and creatures, seen and unseen.

In spring the five-foot length resting perch becomes a lookout to spy, from overhead, on sparrows, finches, and robins building nests of twigs, dried grass, and/or the discarded snagged-kite-string remnant. Black and brown squirrels frolic, jump, and sprint across bending and springing-back tree branches.

Summer with its rising temperatures and storm breezes brings to the bench the fragrance of nearby blooming wildflowers and the whispers of three-foot-high grass. With a westerly wind, the bench swings to and fro to cast off a newly arriving grasshopper. A person’s gentle foot push aids the breeze to enhance the swinging sensation. Looking through the trees and downward, there’s a floating dock on the far shore of a stagnant water pond. Only this day the water splashes as unleashed dogs romp back onto land with clinging droplets to spray their owners. On the bench’s side of the pond, an earthen path juts left and right to a six-foot sandy beach where kids scour the shore for flat rocks to skip into a watery grave.

When the yellow, brown, and red fall leaves swirl and flutter in a tug-of-war between wind and gravity, spring’s green unfurled canopy no longer hides the approaching winter view. A mulch carpet of leaves often rustles as practicing cross-country runners approach and pass behind the bench.
Often unnoticed is the rectangular memorial plaque mounted on a concrete base. The gracious tribute to an eco-friendly soul who once, or more likely often, would stand on the bench's exact spot and wish to linger longer, to enjoy the quiet, and to be nurtured by nature's pulse.

How would one edit the above? Are there metaphors not organic? For more by Author Donan Berg visit http://www.abodytobones.com/