27 May 1985, Posted by Scott An Chora in Travelogue, No Comments.

05/27 Avebury, England

One night at Mik’s place while passing around the pipe, he weaved stories of sprits possessing the trails between the white horse and the many rock circles heading north.  I could almost visualize these images he was painting and hear the pounding of drums in the wind, as I focused in on the flames dancing with the beat.  So, while roaming around Bath, I picked us up a wonderful map that showed all the antiquities on the island and this became our new guide.  For every myth and legend there is a fact to be found and we have found our map.

We decided to head northeast up the A4 towards Swinden.  We were up early to see if we could thumb ourselves a ride with the morning commute.  It seemed wise for the two of us to separate.  Perhaps somebody would be more inclined to pick up a single traveler rather than a pair of males.  I was the first to have somebody stop.  I honestly don’t remember a word this guy spoke to me, just that I tried to look interested.  I was more focused on his hands and body gestures.  Just in case, one can never be too careful.  Coming from California, I’m a virgin at this type of traveling and needed to learn the ropes.  He dropped me off at a crossroad and again I was walking the line on the edge of the road.  The luck I had captured earlier has escaped me and it seemed as if it would be a long haul before I’d reach our destination.  Then what looked to be a small bread truck pulled over just in front of me.  The back gate swung open and not only was Jim sitting there but also three others I had seen along the highway.  This worked out to be quite the convenience.  I no longer needed to wait and/or locate Jim once I reached Swinden.

We slept out along the back trails, stormed over Silbury Hill, roamed the labyrinths of Oldbery Castle and then we proceeded down the Ridgeway path toward Avebury Circle.  We walked all day, hours but for me time did not exist and practically disappeared.  I was entranced by the winds dancing and drawing patterns across the hills of rolling grass.

Songs whispered, by dancing grain, beneath the haunted moon
resounding to the whirlwind’s sweep the plain, for fear, that daybreak comes too soon.

Deep midnight, by the moon’s chill glance, out of the dense fog wrapped about them
the children cease to sing and dance, stands in a circle unbroken

Occasionally we would rest along the trail, roll up some tobacco with hash, take a breather and let nature introduce itself to us.  Every so often a group of cows would wander over to the fence and stare as if we were some unknown species.  It’s true, no one ever showed me how to play the guitar but the gathering cows thought it was quite the novelty.  We roamed among the monoliths, resting with our backs against one of the stones.  Only our smoke gave us away.

Along the edge of open sky and vast sweeps of land, I followed the wildflowers
I heard sweet memories dances in the distance, sheep wandering through Avebury

Meandering lines of standing stones, crisscrossing the stars and planets, I too followed their path
the body of a serpent passing through a circle, toppled, broke up and buried, we shall never know