By Dark Angel, 15th of September, 2023
I can't remember when I first knew that these stones had come fron the Preseli Hills in South Wales, not far from where my father was born. It may have been from some writings, a documentary, a talk or, perhaps, a conversation, but the knowledge intrigued me... where and what was the source of this wonderous stone?
It prompted a quest... my husband planned the trip to finally stand before the cliff from where the stones were quarried. Through market towns and along open roads... we travelled through remote countryside, leaving small villages and hamlets behind. After many a winding road, we finally forged a shallow river to the site!
The cliff rose above the landscape, then disappeared into a steep hill cloaked in vegetation. It was beautiful, silent and solemn — a truly magical sight. For on the ground before the outcrop lay a huge stone, quarried but never moved. I could only wonder at the task of working these monuments, and the reason why this one had never reached it's destination.
Touching the blue stone and trying to imagine those who worked at this cliff... the questions... who first saw this stone? What minds decided to quarry the rock and take it to Stonehenge? Who organised the necessary workforce?
And, of course, how were the great stones moved?
Embracing the outcrop, I tried to connect with the age whose beliefs and resolve initiated the huge task of cutting, moving and erecting the stones so far from where they were cut, and the labour and sacrifice necessary to achieve such a goal.
The stone was warm in the early afternoon sun, and the scent of the domain of the Green Man on the rock face.
I felt humbled by their beauty, majesty and their place in history.
They elevated me above the petty irritations of everyday life, and made me realise what a great honour it was for me to stand before them in my lifetime.
Thank you to my husband for making it possible.
By Dark Angel, 2nd of July, 2023
I have a huge female poplar outside my gate, on private land behind some shops. It has been there for certainly over 60 years. Originally there were two, but one fell down in the 1980s.
They were originally in the garden which marked a gateway of some large houses which were demolished in 1960s to build shops and flats. The tree has been neglected over the years and I think it may need some attention.
Sadly, this beautiful under threat, and not popular with the shopkeepers and some residents... but I love it!
It has just started to shed the white fluffy seed, which is one of the reasons it's unpopular. The other reasons are perceived dangers of falling branches, leaves in autumn and sap on cars parked beneath.
I personally have cleared leaves etc. in the hope residents and businesses become more tolerant because this tree may be rare and precious.
By Dark Angel, 21st of June, 2023
How it crept upon us! After months of feeling cold, fires burning, blankets and dark mornings, and suddenly... it was upon us!
Slowly the days had lengthened, fewer nights lighting fires and shivering evenings... then suddenly nature burst through and like our ancestors experienced, life became easier.
I spent the day into the late evening with nature, appreciating the fact that I was here to celebrate another summer, and thankful to be amongst the blossoming beauty and to feel the hope and miracle that was unfolding.
I have no idea where the majestic foxgloves came from... a gift from nature perhaps after our catastrophic losses of the winter?
The little frog statue, placed where we buried our little inhabitants, festooned with beautiful foliage.
The grape vine heavy with grapes, the pumpkins begin their life's journey. Apples adorn the tree, and the little cherry tree, bought as just a stick, produces its first fruit.
Strawberries, peppers, beans, gherkins, beetroot, and parsnips... our new wildlife pond brimming with water cress, and "kats" potatoes awaiting harvest.
Even in the most miserable unlikely backwaters of our habitats, nature shows us its presence.
My garden a woodland, the magestic tree, its trunk maybe a hundred years old, sees another solstice.
The green man smiles, and all is well.
Written in stone and carried by fire