Echo: Who is the girl in the water? Is it myself I see, or someone I’m dreaming? (she gently touches the surface of the pool)
If I reach out my hand, why can I not touch you? Our fingers meet, but your world dissolves from view in the rippled glass. Are you gone? Do you dissolve as well, or do you remain, though obscured from my sight? Would you exist, even if I looked away?(Pause, she withdraws her hand)
Which of us is the reflection, you or I? The beauty of your world is greater than mine. The moon here seems garish and bright, but yours floats languid and pale. These branches, twisted and angry, but yours sway gently in slumber. If the hand of God creates all that is beautiful, then yours must be the world he crafted, and mine the hallow reflection of divinity.
Is it you, then, who created my world, and will I vanish if you turn away? Am I only a passing figment of your dreams?
(There is a sound in the forest. She looks up, startled)
Is someone there?
Who is there?
~ excerpt of play Echo in the Mere (text copyright to Doug Bedwell)