There is no sign, no board to inform but only an ancient circle of
stones. Easy to drive by, easy to shrug off as people so used to the
machine and to buildings that make us feel small or lift us high in the
These stones are silent now, the subject of scholarly conjecture but
they serve us visitors as a marker for memory. Half in jest and half in
wild desire I remove my shirt feeling the keen wind kiss me gently and
eddy past as I move clockwise in respect since every human sacred site
demands this direction, touching the pebble I carry in my pocket this
holiday and which I have touched other stones, other churches, other
shrines and my fathers grave, against these stones.
Leaving them they lean into the turning earth upright like a hand of
love accepting me as a distant grandchild of a client people. This is a
tribal place with room for me and I am grateful and half naked half born
Thank you stones may you stand here another 5,000 years assembled in
this place as silent witnesses to people who saw greater horizons.