The few remnants of the Celtic times make me feel incredibly nostalgic. It is not that I could even that you why but there is something about their presence. This something, for me, is the perfect fuel for grand dreams, especially so as these places have stood for thousands of years.
Mind, we don’t really understand these people, what they did, how they did these things, nor even what they considered important (other than their religion, if it can be called that, was definitely so). And, yet, forty-five centuries after they built a place, we can ponder these localities.
For me, this Celtic touch that quite a few sites have is possibly the location where I feel closest to the gods. In the sense of a true temple, after all, these are only that one step beyond a Germanic grove. And, yes, these ancient monuments have also suffered incredibly in the ages that have passed since, either through the Anglo-Normans (say someone who thought that Newgrange would make a perfect site for a settlement on top of the passage tomb) or the early Victorian tourists who chipped away at the stone at Castlerigg, but a part of their mystery remains. And this mystery feels so deep, so strong, that it can engulf our entire world.
This Cumbrian site is a perfect example of this sentiment, the small stone circle itself encircled by the hills around it. It is a beautiful place in every sense of the word, and really that is the true poetry of such a locale. It was my extra-ordinate fortune to also end up at Castlerigg in the depths of the Northern English winter (quite possibly an entire half an inch of snow in early December), but if this place was meant for the solstice then such a time is exactly when one should visit (I guess a few weeks off, but poetic license should allow me this victory).
But, take a look for yourselves:
