Stonehenge.

Have you ever thought about Stonehenge? I like thinking about it. The ancient, archaic mysticism behind it, the spiritual intrigue, the historic questions left unanswered. but tonight I thought about Stonehenge in an entirely different light. A sadder, more futile light. Stonehenge is, as everyone knows, a mystery. The Druids behind its construction are long since dead, leaving behind no documented record of their purpose. What is Stonehenge? Many have made suppositions, but that's all there is. Guesswork which paradoxically raises more questions than answers. The magnificent stones have stood for thousands of years in their puzzling circles, overseeing the rise and fall of Rome, the rise of Christianity, and now the fall of piety and morality (in my opinion). But what is it? A gateway to another world, a meter to read the stars? A practical joke of such monumental proportions that we can't even find the heart to laugh? I don't know. But, as a breeze which dies away before having the chance to move so much as a single blade of grass, it might as well not exist, despite its glory. Stonehenge seems to me now, a lonely place, a sorrowful place. With the loss of those who understood it, it seemed, too, to have lost its soul; and yet the stones still stand.



I have to admit that I feel very much the same. The only people who have ever understood me are gone and, though I have a voice, my purpose is now a stoic and unmoving secret to the world. An unspoken understanding that there is, ironically, nothing there to understand. I, too, stand alone upon my grassy hillock, watching as time and existence continues to roll on its wheel with no concern whether I stand or fall. In this, Stonehenge and i are friends, but we are sordid companions who can never speak the same language, can never connect with souls that have seemingly dissipated from us like a fog when the sun breaks through the clouds.