I reel into a new consciousness
As plains and trees roll by.
Looming cars thundering past
Beat up the earth.
And there! Stonehenge – in pouring rain
As I drive to the junction of the lane.
Herded by gusts, torn by the storm are
Paper bags, plastic cups, a day ticket pass.
Raincoats swish and strange gutterals clash,
But magic stays guarded by uniformed glass.
Primeval past and I are remote
Inscrutable mysteries standing apart.
Clicked by the camera, zoomed by the lens,
Unable to reach the reality there.
Yet calling, calling
On the bone of my skull
Are the priests of the Stones
Where the sun went down.
Margaret Gill
© Copyright 2013