
There’s a metaphor there somewhere. Oh and that’s the field wall – I didn’t go in that way, needless to say.
There’s a metaphor there somewhere. Oh and that’s the field wall – I didn’t go in that way, needless to say.
The beautiful pink tint to the quartz made the torn flesh worthwhile. Seriously.
So, this is it for Garryglass – deserted, destroyed and now grown over. Like a frontier fort reduced to a limp point of rubble it left the last century with just one stone, presumably the central monolith – having entered it with eleven others. Meanwhile the ‘rough pasture’ mentioned in O’Nuallain’s 1984 survey has become a dense plantation of trees and the clearing left around the stone has filled with a head-high and almost impenetrable thickness of furze and bramble. When finally I fought my way through I was almost tempted to kiss it so it could wake up and make me its prince.
Don’t visit unless:
(1) You really like quartz
(2) You have a GPS and follow these coordinates. Even then there’s a probable reading difference and...
(3) You don’t mind a bit of discomfort and the probability of ripped clothing.
Something about nothing maybe... On the top of the knoll in the field to the west there’s a prostrate ‘orthostat-sized’ slab with one level end. A doorway for the little men or one of the missing stones...?