Whatever they happened to be doing right here designed things. They developed this tomb in this destination. Dragged these hundreds of stones up this hill and fitted them along, one after the other, to make the passing, to shape the chamber. They did it for an excuse. Standing up right here, however, the reasons and traditions were products we are able to just speculate around. All we now have are the stones, and they are lack of. They can be only the waste of his industry. Remains. Fragments. Whatever miracle that has been talked into all of them has shed their electricity, long-ago.
We take a seat on the stones for a snack. The top the mountain is actually flat, with a steep, sudden slope on the north area. Could the gallows have already been right here, somewhere close to in which the audience is today? Could the hanged man posses saw the rocks of this tomb blur and darken once the oxygen struggled to run to his mind? Performed the guy twitch his finally and, for a while, read his old predecessor seem, blinking, through the lips of cave? Or one and a lady in strolling footwear, sharing a flapjack and a thermos of tea?
Conjecture. That’s all we’re left with. L screws the lid on the flask and slips it into the girl rucksack. We operate and begin taking walks towards Brouster.
From this point absolutely an excellent clear view into the north-east. Weisdale, in which the TV mast, a landmark both for of us since birth, appears on top of the mountain, an Eiffel Tower regarding westside of Shetland, beaming information and soaps and light activity into living spaces for miles in. The slope of Scallafield. The community of Voe. The parish of Lunnasting. Involving the soaring and dropping of black, boot-sucking, peaty hills, the loch of Petta Water, a barely noticed oval inside the center of the Shetland mainland. A moor-darkened omphalos that, unintentionally, keeps drawn another, a lot larger-scale, type of speculation as compared to kind we indiancupid have been creating about vanished gallows and tumbledown tombs.