68 Steps, Avebury UK, 5 January 2024

I say 68 steps but I suppose I should really say: 68 steps or something like it something near it I can’t be sure somewhere along the way I lost my count.

The stones, the ancient stones of Avebury. Colossal, says one stranger called Barnaby (he says his name is Barnaby) and Willow so small so tiny down below in the mud with his stick, his little plastic truck (an excavator, actually, he would want you to know).

I like the wide ones best.

There is one who pulls me in close, here is the one who pulls me close. She pulls Willow, too. And Barnaby. I count, I try to count the steps from the moment the pulling starts, my hands damp and cold and smelling of bathroom soap. Cheek to stone, hand to stone, whole body to stone and I am thinking, the neck of my sweater unraveling: how many of us have there been standing here like this?