Stone Ring

Deep in dark primeval forest, the canopy suddenly opens into a round clearing, the only gap for a long way in any direction. The last of the dusk falls straight down into it. Grass, bracken and thick moss cover the ground. About a dozen grey stones stand in a rough ring at the centre, between chest and head height, furred green, several leaning. One lies flat in front, moss creeping over its upper face. Shallow grooves and cup-shaped hollows are worn into their inner sides, almost smooth now. Bracken leans inward at the clearing's edge, brown at the tips. Nothing here is grand. There is no altar, no lintel, nothing arranged. Fungus crusts the fallen wood around the rim of the clearing. Behind the stones, the oaks have already gone black. Overhead hangs a small patch of pale sky.