It's a fair old walk of two and a half kilometers from Cosdon hill stone rows to White Moor stone circle, following the well obvious footpath we stayed clear of Raybarrow pool, indeed why would you even try to go through it, you'd have to be mad to stray from the path, I'm always straying, but when the path goes straight to where your going?
After much wet feet based japery, the stones finally come into view, my heart missed a beat, and I got that giddy Brodgar feeling, it's been so long coming, has this stone circle, and such a long walk, even my goosebumps had goosebumps. Eric, as ever took it in his coolest of strides, he asked which way were going next, sat, and waited for me to drink my fill of White moor, he knows the score.
I've been on lots of moors, hillsides and commons, fields and heaths, and, do you know, none of them have been white, not a one, and this place is also decidedly not white, it's most definitely green, bright, shiny, wet and very green, almost, you might say, as green as grass, why isn't this place called Green Moor? That's what I'd have called it, is there even a green moor anywhere? Bet not.
Even my feet are wet now, and I'm beginning to join Eric in his fantasies about Thanos clicking his fingers and getting rid of wet feet the universe over, but wet feet are still another small price to pay to be here, now.
I walk around the stones, there's no need to touch them, they're hard and wet, I know. There's two things I do at an ancient site, photography and sitting, it's still quite wet, so sitting is out. Walking round and round, clicking the little back box at it all, and yes a slight caress of the tallest stone, a pretty and thin slab, and telling Eric yes I'll be done shortly, he's over by the outlier now and I can tell how tall it is, it's maybe twice as tall as any of the circle stones, I walk over to it, little knowing that I was walking away from the circle of my dreams.
The outlier has been graffitised, by someone with the initials DC and TP and just T, later that morning I see that DC also went to the long stone on Shovel down, a repeat offender. The outlier is almost pointing us in the direction of Buttern hill stone circle. I tell Eric that we're now on our way back to the car, just one stone circle and chambered cairn on the way. He leads me away, with only time for a quick wistful look over my shoulder, I whisper bye stones to the stones of White moor, still a stupid name though.
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Posted by postman
23rd June 2018ce
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