I always felt an 'otherness' about these places,the first being a hillfort in Worcestershire, then onwards I became dutybound to let my legs do the walking and the land the talking. But there is truth here, in the natural landscape, who was it said 'sermons in stones, books in babbling brooks'? Or somesuch? Spot on.

Over 27(ish) yrs of the odyssey, I found the Earth to be a lover-mother-lovelode of deep yearning and giving, from the terrifying to the most fragile quiver of *being*. And the stones? The mounds? I feel they both captured and amplified the indefinable humming 'buzz' that exists between the self and the Other, the macro-microcosm, not so much a fly in a web-of-a-shake as a web in a webinawebinaweb.... Could I be more vague? ;-) It's somethingabout the reflection of my faith in life, and vice versa, and IMPOssible to put into words effectively, which is as it should be I guess. Agree with Wychburyman, ye compadre of old, this is a great thread. And one that most wonderfully of all, joins each of us here :-)

Wordsworth had a handle on it when he said;

I have felt
A presence that disturbs me with the joy
Of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime
Of something far more deeply interfused,
Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns,
And the round ocean and the living air,
And the blue sky, and in the mind of man (sic)

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