12. God Knows What

(At Castlerigg Stone Circle)

Rough beads of island strung across the lake
hanging; draughting space
reflecting on the fold where water meets,
pencil-lined deep in water’s space.

An elevation of the mountain’s side
rises from the baseline as a page unfolds
with each turn of the road
and then we climb
along stone-bordered lanes
to the site at Castlerigg where lies
a glacier of time, invisible across the fells
and standing stones retain
the feel of hands.

A young girl frames her lover
mounted on a stone and snaps him there.
The stones remain unmoved
regardless of the crows
cawing in the wood and crows
that rise and sink in swirls. It is springtime now;
they posture, and the multi-coloured walkers sport
new gear from the Hawkshead shop
making sheep look drab, though they
are splattered also with the yellow, red and blue
indicating god-knows-what.

We do a circuit round the stones
and linger where the altar, horizontal
questions our naivety, the whole
fenced off by a wider ring of drystone walls
with kissing-gates and stile
and notices for lambing-time.

Sun strengthens, bathing walls
and turns the dial as mountains silhouette
their smooth grey forms to match the trees’
scissor-trimmed and leafless tops.
The little that we brought we leave,
our assignation with the past,
slope off towards our car parked on the road
and pass the padlocked contributions box.