Foundation stones lie in a circle unmoved and half buried in the grass*
Beyond the Whitesands Bay car park lies an apparently barren headland. In sturdy walking boots, we tracked away from the car up the narrow, but well-worn, path to St David’s Head.
I had learned that for thousands of years, man had trodden this way to a place described in 1793 as ‘most suited to retirement, contemplation and Druidical mysteries.’ Perhaps the oak groves, long gone now, helped. Today, the headland is bare for except for low stubby heather, grass and yellow-flecked gorse. All around the blue-grey sea pounds the rocks below.
There are stones large and small everywhere. It takes a sharp eye to spot Arthur’s quoit. A large capstone angled onto a stubby rough pillar, stands unannounced and anonymous. Any bodies departed long ago. Continue reading “A Circular Walk on New Years Day”