it’s late afternoon by the time i pedal up to the entrance to the ring of brodgar. i could see it for a mile ahead of me though, as i bicycled through along the tiny two lane road that cuts across the main island of orkney. it’s massive standing stones were a beacon on the horizon, guiding me toward them and the loch beyond.
i drop my bicycle on the side of the road and step aside to let a small van full of people leave. then it’s just me and i relish in the solitude. i open the entrance gate and walk up toward the ring. the path is narrow, a small dirt path that climbs steadily uphill until i am standing at the edge of the circle. 27 megaliths encircle a burial mound that’s covered in heather. there were probably more megaliths when it was constructed, back in 2500-2000 bce.
the wind is whipping around my face and the clouds are covering the sun. i step forward, into the circle and touch the nearest stone. it’s rough, four thousand years of wind, salt water, sun and lichen etched on its face. its partner across the circle tilts a little to the side, evidence of strong winds that pummel the island in the winter months.
a long, low henge surrounds the circle, and beyond are burial mounds. they excavate here each summer, a site that is now one of the most well-preserved and complete neolithic sites in the world. i don’t see that; i see the site as few people do – devoid of people. i walk slowly around the circle, touching each stone as i go. some of them have modern graffiti: small hearts, initials, carved into the old stone. as a lover of history, do i object? not really. that’s now a part of this history. and these stones will be here a lot longer than any of us. a few people come up the path, ignoring the signs that say to stay off the center mound, to stay on the mowed path. that, i object to.
some stones are short; others, fifteen feet tall. each one a different shape. i couldn’t begin to tell you where they came from; research tells me later that they are orcadian, from all across the island. the clouds shift once more, leaving me in brilliant sunlight. it hits a rock and the entire megalith seems to sparkle in the rays. is this what the ancients were looking for? to the left, as i’m looking out over toward one of the lochs, i can see the comet stone, a single standing stone, and part of the complex that is being excavated. it’s possible to walk to it, but i see a bus coming, full of tourists, and i want to enjoy the rocks, not share them with twenty loud people. i turn and walk down the hill, toward my bike. taking my leave of the stones. at the bottom of the hill, i look back. the heather obscures most of them, but a few stones peer out. i snap a picture once again and i say a silent farewell to the pagan gods whose spirits surely haven’t left this place, i reflect; if i was a pagan, norse god, i would stay here, where i can dwell among the ancients, in a land older than time, where it rains more than it’s sunny and where the salty air revives a human’s soul with no more than a whisper.
{if you’re interested… more information on the ring of brodgar}