I had half expected the town to be deserted.
That is Memory again.
It acts like some indifferent film director moving extras around, concerned only with their ebb and flow.
Over time the ‘peripherals’ fade leaving only the ‘principals’ behind.
And that goes for events too…
I have no memory of our initial ‘run up’…
Only the camber to the stones and the ravens, wheeling and cawing, and eventually settling in unison on the portals as we approached.
Contrary to the insistence of our fastidious manipulator of experience, we had not been alone that first time…
There had been ‘others’ in the field but it had not seemed to matter so much then.
Possibly because in those days I did not take photographs.
There were no ravens this time, but plenty of people.
A line of motor vehicles clogged the lane and patches of bright colour flitted about the stones, uncertainly, like overgrown butterflies.
The colours too have now faded, as colours tend to do…
Perhaps, I have become over sensitive to synthetics?
In the event we easily outlasted three separate groups before the extreme cold became too much.
They do not stay long.
They have, you see, nowhere to file their experience…
Nothing to lend it context…
Maybe, it appears crude to the mind too far removed from nature?
Would one call hills crude?