Our journey home to Somerset takes us within a fifth of a mile of the stones. Tonight the date is Saturday the twentieth of June, the time eleven twenty pm, the night of the Summer solstice.
Sadness surrounds me as my mind clicks relentlessly through memories of Dad. It is almost morning and that means I face my first fatherless father’s day. At that moment the traffic stops and I wipe my eyes to look where all the people are walking. Hundreds of bodies wrapped up for the Solstice, moving like a huge snake on it’s determined journey home. I hear a hum of energy and glimps the smiles on expectant faces. A huge foglit space that cast eerie shaddows from the stones; across the grassy space. Lighting up portaloos with queues far too long to have suited my bladder had I been waiting.
Druids, new agers, travellers, and some i swear were dressed as Dr Who, trooped across the makeshift temporary crossing, giving access to the Henge.
A perfect crescent hung in the sky, and as if by magic the clouds gathered and navigated around it; not wanting to marr the atmosphere or steal the moon’s limelight.
I was reminded of the times we came with our Dad, hide and seek around the stones followed by a picnic,of smiths crisps with a knot of salt in the bag ,and cheese and chutney sandwiches; eaten with ghusto so we had time to be fairies , witches and warlocks.
We lived by the smaller Henge not far away in Avebury, where at least once a day we’d play, imagine, and create an escape into lands that only live in childrens heads… unless of course the child grows to be like me.
Soon the traffic cleared and so did any sad thoughts of mine. Dad passed in October 2014, but at this moment I can say without a tear or a doubt, Happy Fathers day Dad; because i know he can hear.
Stone Henge Somerset.
Avebury’s Henge in wiltshire