The temperature had dropped by lunchtime. The sun was playing hide and seek and the clouds, already ominous, were becoming heavier as we headed out towards the great stone circle of Arbor Low. The site had been the inspiration for the final ritual of the weekend and was supposed to be the last visit of our time with Alethea and Deb. It is a magical site by any standards and the serpent stones would whisper and weave their dreams.
The circle sits high on the hills. To access the stones you must park and walk, crossing through a working farmyard, through a gate and across the fields. There are no paths, just the invisible ‘lines of fire’ born of the passage of feet over thousands of years. And it is all uphill. There was no way we could get my son’s wheelchair to the site.
Not that we were about…
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