Blue Stones

 

The cold grey clouds, loaded with rain from an icy Atlantic plough into these quiet long hills

 

The rain sprays the frost shattered outcrops

 

Long blue stones, eons ago pulled like teeth from these hills

 

Long blue stones that perhaps mysteriously time travelled to the most famous Henge of them all

 

Where each year millions look vacantly on not knowing the bleating sheep silence of their origins

 

Or the occasionally sun burst beauty of these ancient hills