I want to write about how moving Stonehenge was.
I want to write that I felt the energy of the earth, that I felt something when I walked there, that I saw something unique and wonderful in this world. I want to write that the angels wept, and that I am forever changed.
Sadly, none of this happened, so I can't.
Please, don't for one moment get me wrong. I loved it there. It was a lovely day for it, too. Cold and windy, so there weren't a lot of people out. The sky had that hint that it could rain, but it didn't. And just seeing something I've read about, I've thought about, for so much of my life... that was an experience I'll treasure.
But, no faeries carried me away for a night of dancing that lasted a hundred years, and nothing strange happened when I looked through the stones. You can't get close, except on the Solstice, and even then only if you line up for days ahead of time. They keep you on a far away trail, to the point where it's hard to really appreciate the size of the stones. And they are quite massive, of that I am certain. It was difficult to imagine how the stones would have been brought there.
Don't tell anyone this... but it was smaller than I thought it would be. Not the stones. The circle. It's not very big at all.
I've been told to go to Avesbury and see the standing stones there. You can walk through them, get close to them, and the size of the circle is what I was thinking of every time I thought of Stonehenge.
Ah well. I'll have this. And memories, and thougths, and dreams.