Clouds ascended, tier on tier; the lowest a soft bruise, the highest, a celestial tower, climbing fist over swollen fist to the Heavens.
And all the while the sun, a diamond distilled against a crystal sky, glared as we passed the silent Rollright Stones. Druids in modern garb stood sentinel, faces masked in grateful reverence, hands clenched as if in prayer.
The sun’s corona bathed them in resplendent light. How long they stood, no-one knew. Nor if the Fates’ alignment was in any way altered. But their silent mutterings intoned a warning. Ignore the portents if you dare.