And all that remains now…
Is to bring it back home…
And fill in the gaps…
Of which there are many…
Another one of those ‘green-worm-holes’ presented itself.
And we were hardly likely to refuse.
A decision with consequences which we both found quite pleasing.
A couple of small stones caught our attention.
But upon closer inspection they turned out to be rather large stones.
But then, this was Avebury after all…
The Eskimo has over fifty words for snow…
Carn les Boel, is marked on the map as a hill-fort but it is very different from the two ‘hill-forts’ we had just encountered on our Workshop…
It is difficult to imagine anyone living here, although, doubtless a presence would, in former times have been maintained.
The stones, predominantly erratic, have been judiciously supplemented, and in case we had arrrived with eyes wide shut the avian populations seemed keen to call our attention to the ‘salient points’…
These days we do not have to be told twice…
Although, ‘The Dragon’s Breath’ was proving restrictive…
Our request for clarity was graciously accepted…
And why is Carn les Boel so special?
It is a place where Dragon Energies meet the sea…
After much to-ing and fro-ing of furniture…
We had finally embarked upon our pre-tour of Wales and were approaching the border of our eventual destination although it would be some time before our actual arrival there…
Road and more road…
So much road in fact that I may have dropped off…
“Where are we?”
“Monmouth-shire’s ‘Golden Valley’.”
“Shouldn’t that be M.O.N-shire?”
“No, it’s definitely Monmouth-shire, and anyway, you agreed we should check out Arthur’s Stone.”
“I have no recollection of this.”
“Just before you dozed off.”
“It’s not easy being Narcoleptic, and in any case, if I did agree to it, which I seriously doubt, I did so before I knew where it was.”
“We still don’t know where it is, technically.”
“But of course we do, it’s just a little further into the middle of nowhere, you’ll see.”
Road and more road…
“I am going to be very disappointed if this turns out to be an erratic.”
“We don’t know what it’s going to be that’s the point. We have just completed an Arthurian Workshop, we are on our way to Wales and there happens to be a stone called Arthur just out of our way…”
“In the middle of nowhere…”
“A slight detour, that’s all…”
“A slight detour into the middle of nowhere…”
“It may be a standing stone.”
“It may, but a lot of the ‘Arthur sites’ have to do with Giants… and battles… and the hurling of huge stones… which is why I suspect it’s going to be an erratic.”
“Why, the connection with Arthur then?”
“Because in legend, Arthur was a Giant Bear.”
“And Giant Bears… are mountains… which is why in legend Arthur and his knights still sleep in one.”
“Huh, huh… you don’t know do you?”
“It’s not a standing stone…”
“Nor, is it an erratic.”
“It’s a neolithic burial chamber!”
“As I was saying, another reason why these type of constructions are named after Arthur is because the Ancestors sleep there, just like Arthur and his legendary knights…”
“Or rather, a collapsed neolithic burial chamber.”
“It’s three sites for the price of one…”
“We have erratics, and lots of them… we have standing stones…
or at least, Leaning Stones… and we have a burial chamber…”
“A collapsed burial chamber.”
“Non the less impressive for that though.”
“I’d be inclined to agree.”
“Maybe it originally took its form from that of The Plough?”
“The Great Bear.”
“Maybe it did.”
“That may even have been its original name.”
“I like that. Arthur’s Wagon.”
“So do I.”
“Makes one wonder what the sky-scape was like from this vantage five thousand years ago.”
“Doesn’t it just.”
“Where to now then?”
“Next stop… The Middle of Wales.”
“From the middle of nowhere to the middle of Wales.”
“You keep getting the emphasis wrong on that.”
“It is now here not nowhere.”
“So do you.”
“It’s not the middle of Wales it’s the middle of Cymru…”
Far superior in every way to their white, red, black and yellow brethren, when the green race returned to their home planet they were not best pleased with what they found.
Mankind, such as it was, was easily subdued and once the potentially disasterous propensity to self-destruct had been removed they were once again allowed to roam freely over the planet much as a domesticated animal might.
Foraging amongst the ruined churches and temples of yore, the Old Testament of Divine Justice and the New, of Divine Mercy, were re-discovered and married together.
Thus, the green race perceived what had gone wrong with their experiment…
“No one in their right mind believes that stones can walk.”
“Despite the fact that the Folk-Record is unequivocable on this point.”
“It is also unequivocable about stones dancing, and drinking from streams.”
“I may be able to clarify the streams. They may be underground.”
“They may even be telluric currents, but you promised.”
“That, unfortunately, is deductive reasoning for you. It was the only bit of wall we had not checked.”
“We had so checked it… last time.”
“Only from a distance and that does not count.”
As it turned out there proved to be another bit of wall we had not checked.
Also distant and too far away to consider once the snow started.
I mean, really started.
There were compensations though, like the trees and the wildlife.
“Are you sure it isn’t the Throne-Stone?”
“Not near enough to the wall and the gate.”
“But the wall is a mnenomic. Your mind could easily have contracted the distance.”
“Not the right size, or colour.”
“Like that’s not easily accounted for.”
“Maybe you’re right and I’ve discovered a new species of stone, which can walk!”
“But that would be a New-Old species of stone.”
“So perhaps it just went for a stroll, again.”
“What, in the snow?”
…After a longer than expected climb up the steeper than anticipated side of the plateaux, you are finally within appraisal distance of the pointed stone.
Its presence, which now looms towards you, defining the false horizon, seems to demand that you stop for a space, the better to take in its form, and as you are, in any case, grateful for the pause and a breather, you do so.
‘Oh look, it’s a Raven-Stone!” you say to yourself.
Sure enough, looking right, the fault lines of the stone form a raven’s beak and an eye, and upon closer inspection there is a small indentation in the base of the stone which could be representative of a feathered shoulder.
As the possibility that this stone was deliberately placed begins to sink into your consciousness you start to look for other possible images in its apparently un-hewn surface.
Looking left there appears to be a more anthropomorphic profile and again a vaguely unsettling ramification starts to weigh upon your consciousness, ‘Stone of the Raven-God,’ says the voice that earlier you took to be your own.
‘Bran…’ comes the response which this time could very well be yours.
As if summoned, by your inner voicing, a black-form arrows towards you from out of the depths of the white sky and settles upon the point of the stone.
“Cruach… Cruach…” says Raven, preening, and hopping along the top of the stone.
…As the ferns thin you spy a wooden stile up ahead and descend the grassy-knoll rather too quickly for the conditions underfoot, trotting to the stile side, precariously, and resting awhile to catch your breath.
A road runs to your right quite close to the stile with a stone bridge beyond, under which you can hear water as it rushes and gurgles.
The thought of traffic impels you over the stile and into what remains of the wooded slope which has taken you this far.
As you again begin to climb towards a moorland vista, tree stumps and root systems lie exposed along either side of your path, resembling swarthy, grinning, woodland faces, which seem to claim a more intimate knowledge of your terrain than you can.
You continue your climb and leave the cover of the trees completely.
Again unsheltered you are met by another, now invigorating, blast of cold air.
Far to your left, the stone face watches serenely. Far to your right the shark-fin peak is hidden by the slopes of two hills which form a classic v-shaped valley.
Before you rises a steep sided plateaux which holds the object of your quest. You know you can go left or right to reach the top of the plateaux but a point mid-way along the false horizon draws your attention.
From your vantage it looks like a pointed stone and leading up to it though the seasonally ravaged remnant of the bracken runs something resembling a path.
You head for the rudimentary path and set off along it towards the pointed stone…