The circle is complete. The cumulation of seven years of part-time study. A lifelong ambition. A degree achieved. Knowledge. Achievement.
But circles have no end. What’s next?
I take this time to rest in the centre of the circle, in winter’s stillness. To decide. To set a new route. Inward or outward on the next spiral around. What are we actually looking for on the next perambulation? Do we know?
They say that the Rollright Stones cannot be counted. So what if we photograph each one individually? When we dissect the creature do we find the truth, or merely kill its myth?
Furthermore, does possessing the answer even satisfy us? I notice my dog cannot resist chewing toys to get the squeaker out. But once done, he loses interest, the beguiling inner mystery of the squeaky toy is broken.
The photograph has, throughout its history, provided evidence. Here, it can be used to tell you exactly how many stones comprise the Rollrights. But at what cost? We need myths. Myths are the places we go to to search for answers. Without them, there’s nowhere left to explore. What use is an accurate map when there’s no territory?
Oh, and if you are thinking of counting the stones, I may have left one out. Or inserted one twice. Possibly. Who knows.
