A cold New Year’s Eve seeps in,
Walking along an unknown path,
Confronted suddenly by giant arcs of ditch and bank
Drawing the eye towards processions of stones.
Rings within rings,
Gauntly chiselled jewels set in bracelets of mossy grass,
Ancient faces careworn from witnessing millennia –
Sad, yet proud and wise, these forty ton leviathans.
Echoes of long-forgotten rituals
Intangible yet close, a sense of collective aim.
Slowly we traverse the great circle,
Latter-day invaders, unsure of their purpose.
How much have we forgotten?
Over two hundred generations – what is remembered?
Geoff Butts