I felt the place before I saw it. The very air around
Avebury Stone Circle seemed to vibrate with excitement and wonder. Shouts,
laughter, and dog barks drifted serenely from the hills ahead of us, partly
muffled by six-inch-tall grass. Over the crest of a hill, a long line of
blue-gray standing stones slowly came into view. I couldn’t see from the
ground, but I knew that the stones here formed a spiral.
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| 6,000 years old and looking good! |
My parents and I spent a happy hour
at the circle. The stones were enormous: when I stood in their shadows, they
seemed to swallow me whole. Tentatively, I put a hand on one stone, amazed that
I could touch something 6,000 years old. Instantly I felt a strange tingling in
my fingertips, “as if the very stones had spirits,” as I later wrote. I
marveled at the way some places once meant so much that you can still feel
their significance.
I
climbed one of the hills overlooking Avebury. Standing alone at the top, I
reveled in a sight I’d dreamed of for six years. Smooth, emerald-colored hills
rolled out into the distance, seemingly for miles, under a brilliant blue sky.
Each hill was dotted with dark green trees, cloud-colored sheep, and patches of
sunshine yellow rapeseed flowers. I drank it in, my head spinning with
happiness. As far as I was concerned, the flight to England had not brought me
away from home. It had brought me back.
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| Rapeseed, one of my favorite flowers. |
My
parents, not even an inch tall from up here, beckoned to me. But before I left,
I took one last look at the scenery: the blue sky, the yellow rapeseed, the
long grass at my feet rippling in the wind. As clearly as if he stood next to
me, I heard Peter Gabriel’s voice in my mind’s ear. I smiled, listening to
words that had never been more accurate, more meaningful, than they were now.
Climbing up on
Solsbury Hill,
I could see the city
light.
Wind was blowing, time
stood still;
Eagle flew out of the
night.
He was something to
observe:
Came in close, I heard
a voice.
Standing, stretching
every nerve,
I had to listen, had
no choice.
I did not believe the
information;
Just had to trust
imagination,
My heart going
boom-boom-boom…
“Son,” he said, “grab
your things, I’ve come to take you home.”
 |
| The view from the hill at Avebury. |
