Stonehenge. Ancient rocks. Their purpose is a mystery. They were carefully placed deep into the Earth. Bluestone, sarsen, and welsh sandstone—these rocks, the largest weighing over fifty tons, traveled far. Bound by mortise-and-tendon joints they were stacked and arranged with precise carpentry. Their position is a study. Sunlight dances through the large crevices as if the portals were designed just for the light.
Stonehenge. Black birds. They fly between the rocks as they have for centuries. To them, the enchanting circle is just part of nature. Another resting point, maybe base in a game of tag that only they understand. They circled in and out, using the rocks as doorways, part of their playground in the big gray sky. To us, the birds only added to the effect.
Stonehenge. Forty thousand visitors every year. People of all ethnicities. So many languages. The brooding rocks of mystery tower above us all, affecting us in the same ways no matter the language. The teeth of the Earth speak for themselves. And yet, they affect every visitor differently. No one comes to Stonehenge with the same life story, the same beliefs. Everyone leaves Stonehenge with different beliefs. Different ideas. Different questions.
Stonehenge. Mystery. Why were these stones brought here? What do they mean? Who used them? Why were there use? Was blood shed here? Was this a place of peace? Did they feel the same power as they approached, 4000 years ago, 1000 years ago? Why do they still stand so haunting? Will this ancient civilization leave a mark that lasts longer than the mark we leave?
Stonehenge. A secret. An allure. Unique to us, unique four thousand years ago. These rocks are one of the world’s wonders. And today, I experienced it. I traveled far to see it. I was brought into the mystery. I left with questions. My imagination danced like the sunlight, like the birds. It weaved throughout the stones into the very heart of the circle where few can go. There I went, and I enter the enchantment and embrace the secrets of Stonehenge.