The Leacet Hill stone circle

http://www.megalithics.com/england/leacet/leacmain.htm

… and the great satisfaction of a bit of trespass (extra - there’s nothing like a, ‘By Order’, to get me going…)

I went into town for bits and bobs and was planning to walk at Helton but the heavens opened as soon as I got there so I headed homewards.
With Lacra still in my mind, and having read that the cinerary urns found there were similar to ones found at the base of the stones at the Leacet circle, I was driving past and reckoned a damp Sunday afternoon would be perfect for a spot of trespassing. And it was!
It’s so hard to know why a spot like this would have been chosen but it’s not far from Mayburgh Henge and King Arthur’s Round Table.

It’s a day for two poems …

Earth - Derek Walcott

Let the day grow on you upward
through your feet, 
the vegetal knuckles,

to your knees of stone,
until by evening you are a black tree;
feel, with evening,

the swifts thicken your hair,
the new moon rising out of your forehead,
and the moonlit veins of silver

running from your armpits
like rivulets under white leaves.
Sleep, as ants

cross over your eyelids.
You have never possessed anything
as deeply as this.

This is all you have owned 
from the first outcry
through forever;

you can never be dispossessed.

The Moment - Margaret Atwood

The moment when, after many years
of hard work and a long voyage
you stand in the centre of your room,
house, half-acre, square mile, island, country,
knowing at last how you got there,
and say, I own this,

is the same moment the trees unloose
their soft arms from around you,
the birds take back their language,
the cliffs fissure and collapse,
the air moves back from you
like a wave and you can't breathe.

No, they whisper. You own nothing.
You were a visitor, time after time
climbing the hill, planting the flag, proclaiming.
We never belonged to you.
You never found us.
It was always the other way round.