Arrival

People bustle down the long corridors, jostling for first place. They seem to know where they are going so she follows. Bend after bend and still more passages, they seem to walk for ages before spilling out into a huge hall.

She joins one of the many queues that snake past x-ray conveyors and metal detectors. The removal of belt and shoes, and handbag has become routine.

She hands her passport to the next smiling official. Fingertips press to the scanner. A stamp and squiggle and her passport is given back.

“Welcome to my country.” The officer grins at her.







Standing Stones

Shadows stretched away from the tall stones. She thought that she felt movement and quickly turned her head to follow.

Her companion noticed the motion and giggled softly, “Seeing ghosts?”

She did not answer.

There were only thirty people wandering between the huge stone slabs but there lingered a sense of crowding, of excitement, as the sun peeped around the monoliths. Even the children who had been so noisy on the coach were subdued here. Maybe the energy of all those people centuries ago still echoed in the stones.

All too soon it was time to return to the bus.






Top of the Hill

“Only a few old stones,” someone had said.

What she saw, however, was far more.

Hard packed dirt peeled back to reveal the broken walls of history. Jutting stonework covered the grassy dome of the ditch and mound fortress.

The majestic spire of Salisbury Cathedral dominated the skyline while below the ramparts were the bared bones of the original cathedral; its stones scavenged to build the new.

Early tribes, Romans and Normans had lived here. Kings had governed from the palace. Queens had been sent to the tower. Only the silent stones and the imagination of archaeologists marked their steps.

Impressum

Texte: All photographs taken by author
Tag der Veröffentlichung: 06.09.2010

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