Squirrels play in the trees, great piles of stones lie in the shadows like strange beasts; streams, clear and iron-red, join and run together as we follow in the footsteps of memory in search of a lost standing stone. “Of course, my memory may not be entirely accurate…” Now he tells me… Still, it is cooler under the trees and there is only one path, heading along the back of the woods behind Chatsworth. It isn’t as if we could get lost. Marginally misplaced, perhaps, but not lost…
Of course, then we hit a crossing of the paths and chose to go straight on, mistakenly thinking this had to be the way to go. The path went arrow straight as far as we could see… which, sadly, wasn’t all that far. It then decided to look more like managed parkland than woodland so we knew we must be just above…
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Ed;s Site. 