seahenge

Low tide, and the stunted remains of a Bronze Age timber circle poke through the sand. A herd of curlews take to the air just above the surface of the water, and land a few yards away. A parcel of oystercatchers go about their business among the peat outcrops. Just over there, inside another timber circle, a body lies under the sky in the roots of an inverted oak, waiting for gulls and crows to pluck out the eyes, gouge out the innards and strip the flesh from the bones, to set the spirit free. Soon the tide will turn, and the shifting sands will cover everything, and everything will be lost…