Visiting Stonehenge is the goal of just about every Druid. It is the symbol in modern days of our religious movement though it really should be the oak tree or perhaps mistletoe...I'm going with the Oak as Mistletoe grows on it. Hence, by my first week in London I had purchased tickets to a tour going to Stonehenge thought they thought the highlight of the tour was Bath.
It had rained the night before we arrived leaving the area muddy and slippery. The wind was blowing at least 40 MPH and rocking the huge tour bus a bit. We parked in the parking lot and the driver issued a warning to be very careful. It was slippery. Every time I tried to step off the bus, the wind kicked up and finally I just sat back down by the door and mentally contacted the local air spirits. I wouldn't complain about their fun with the tourists if they would allow me off the bus and to take some pictures. Hey fellows, Druid here! Let's have some interspecies cooperation.
Thus, the wind died down and I got off the bus and across the parking lot with no trouble to the gift shop. Noting the gift shop was well stocked with what I wanted....I had waited on the gift shop on a previous tour and my fellow tourists had bought out everything I wanted....I continued to Stonehenge.
I admit, I was sort of holding my breath as I stepped out onto the plain to take my first close up look at this holy place. Nothing, nothing at all greeted me. I went closer and began the trek around the stone monument to absolutely nothing I could sense. The path was a muddy, slippery mess and at least half my fellow tourists had already hit the ground. Each time I turned to take a photograph, the wind died completely down and picked up the moment I clicked the shutter. There were no digital cameras back then. I finished my trek and stopped at the gift shop where a huge standing stone stood as an example so you could touch it...nothing.
I bought my little replica of Stonehenge, my mug and I don't even remember what else and exited the gift shop a little dejected. I ran into the bus driver and he asked what was wrong. I told him I had sort of expected to feel something here and he fished a rock out of his pocket that came from inside the circle before they had closed it off to everyone. When he put it in my hand I heard in my mind quite distinctly, "Everything here is dead." I waited around for a few minutes looking out at the monument and the highway which seemed more alive and agreed. Everything here is dead.
The air spirits were getting a little testy so I hurried back to the bus and just before I made the step onto the bus I heard, "Time Up!" I jumped into the bus clearing the first step completely, the entire bus rocked almost completely over throwing me onto the bus driver and knocking people down right and left. I managed to get myself upright and looked around at everyone looking at me. I was the only person besides the driver not covered in mud. No one had gotten a single decent photo but me and I calmly sat down on the bench seat across from the driver as he announced our next stop was Bath. That was when he looked at me and quietly said, "You're one of them. My wife is Scottish. She is, too."
Oddly enough, I would get the same driver for the next castle tour and to Scotland.
It seems I was right about everything being dead there.