Rollrights. Solstice and equinox, I like to visit. (See: Rollright redux; Rollright stones; Stones at the end of the rainbow; Seventy-three) Here near our Autumnal Equinox, I saw more people walking the stones than I have ever seen before. Good weather? Scottish Independence? I don’t know what drew people to walk the stones on a slightly overcast but fresh fall day. I didn’t care, I suppose. It was a good feeling to see the stones surrounded by visitors.
The number of formations changes every time I walk the ring of stones. And I do walk it. There’s something peaceful in the pacing of the stone ring. Always something poetical about the shifting lumps and crevasses of the stones, and the changing colors of the lichen. I’m reminded that the lichen on these stones are probably some of the oldest life forms I’ve ever met.
Across the road, my witch has finally fallen. Fallen, and disappeared entirely. “The King won in the end,” speculated my son. But I stood on the witch’s spot, threw my arms out at the king, and recited her curse. So, who won?
A visit to the Rollright Stones remains one of my favorite days out, and a quarterly touchstone to my year. And every visit is punctuated most satisfyingly with pies and Hooky at puddingface, in Deddington.
This visit had an extra weight of promise and transformation underneath it — many changes happening behind the scenes here in Camelot. It satisfies me to know I have been able to spend three whole circles of the sun visiting these ancient stones, and that they will continue to wait out their purpose long after I am able to walk their circle in spirit only.