Discourse in the Garden: A Short Drama An olive grove. Night. The sound of approaching footsteps. SOCRATES: ‘Swounds! A dark day for strong flowers and cool breezes. Can you deny it? PLATO: Are you spreching to me, sir? SOCRATES: I am, almost certainly. [Sits beside PLATO.] Call me I am. PLATO: Ha! Welcome. Call me anything you like. I’ll deny it later. SOCRATES: Ho! I’ve only lived the one life. Where next? Should I go on? PLATO: Always going on. Even when you’re half dead.

Circling We move in circles around each other, encircled and encompassing, each turn driven in part by our own will to move and be moved, driven too by that First Cause, the Prime Mover, whose very existence guarantees the endless movement of time and the unceasing, ever-expanding production and reproduction of man’s vain desire to touch and be touched. But that First Cause does not turn, cannot turn; it thinks Itself alone and is unmoved, or at best does not know of the stri