turnleft.jpeg    I remember when I was about eleven years old and writing plays. Some were good and some were bad I’m sure, and my classmates acted in them.

I don’t remember how many I wrote nor what I wrote–I kept no record. But I do know that they were interpretations of life, the way I saw it. I continued to write plays in high school, one of which I do remember:

A group of people were wandering in the streets and countryside. One woman was carrying a cooking pan, a man a hoe and others were carrying something else–all this to mean that they were people from all walks of life.

They were lost. One of them had cut the strings that held them to a master. They were puppets in the theatre of life. They went hither and thither, looking for where life should lead them…

One fine day, like waking up from a dream or getting hit by a bolt of lightning, you will know and I will know what life is really all about.

Until then…