RITE OF PASSAGE
There is a cracked and sunken paving-stone, filled with muddied water outside the Blue Anchor. There is a low but warming Halloween sun. The backdrop is the broad sweep of the river, embraced by its iron bridge, over-arched by a light blue sky.
The soundtrack is the muted noise of traffic on the bridge, the megaphoned instructions from the rowing-coaches and the rise and fall of the voices of the customers on the blue-painted benches along the riverside walk. The scene is set.
Enter from stage-right a small, scampering boy. He approaches the fragmented puddle, the Lilliputian ocean. He pauses and looks around at the attendant audience.
Then, in an age-descended ritual he enacts the sacred rite. His tiny and gigantic foot stamps tidal-wave and flood upon the fractured sea. He flees the scene.
It is ancient, it is inevitable, it is written. It must be obeyed.