(At the Oregon Shakespeare Festival,
Ashland, Oregon)
Lithia Creek pours out
of Oregon springs and stair-step-rolls over dark boulders.
Its braided riffles ruffle foam,
then ease into pools. All
the trees--alder, cedar, oak,
fir, sycamore--drip dappled light
on the eager stream. It's a big
creek, known to flood,
and as it flattens, it runs
through Ashland, where
Shakespeare's plays
migrated to Far West 90
years ago and found stages
in a snug valley. Shakespeare's
language, rhythms, wit, wonder,
and knowing pour forth from
an eternal spring, it seems,
and feed streams of drama
& reading round and round
the planet--in how many idioms?
hans ostrom 2025
