There the path ended, and there stood the stones, a perfect circle, graduated in size from one on each side no higher than Riley’s waist to the king stone, taller than two men.
They stood, quiet gray, under the strong afternoon sun, swimming in a shallow sea of mist.
“Not as massive as Stonehenge, but more symmetrical,” Riley observed. “I bet when I measure them, each set is precisely the same in height and width, and an exact ratio.”
The archaeologist led the way, moved straight up, laid a hand on a stone. Pulled it back. “Did you hear that?”
“It . . . grumbled,” Sawyer said.
“No, it sang!”
Island of Glass
______________
“…the only certainty about Stonehenge is that
the ancient secret it conceals is a formidable one.”
______________
“Last year
I went to Ireland for the solstice,” he told her.
“There’s a
small stone dance there, in County Cork. It’s more intimate than Stonehenge.
The sky stays light until nearly ten, and when it begins to fade, toward the
end of the longest day, the stones sing.”
Face
The Fire
.jpeg)
.jpeg)
