Of Sunrises & Stone Circles
The drive was easy. We awoke early to avoid traffic mostly, it was a bonus to me that we would arrive in the Peaks just as the sun was rising, and so we did. There’s something special about going to those high places, those spaces where you feel alone, where it’s just you, the ground and the sky, and watching quietly as the sun rises. Watching as the landscape below is revealed. I guess it reminds us that we are small things, and our problems are small. Not unimportant, just small in the grand scheme of things. It’s easy to get lost in the grind of the everyday, to get lost in struggles and problems that make up this journey that is life. For me, nature is the balm that soothes all of those things.
On this particular trip, though, I was in search of nine ladies…
Stanton Moor is a beautiful place, rich in history, nature and, of course, magic. It is an early Bronze Age burial ground with over seventy barrows and cairns. When you’re there on an early October morning, you can feel how special this place is. The land is full of spirits, and you can feel them here. Perhaps these hills are liminal places, wild spaces where the veil is thin at most times, but even more so at this time of year. In the summer, places such as these teem with tourists, and why wouldn’t they? This place in particular is beautiful, with stunning views that would make a great backdrop to any selfie. There’s a huge standing stone not far from the entrance, rugged moorland thick with heather and ferns, but on this early October morning, of people there were none and glad I was too!
Soon, the ferns and heather give way to silver birch. Just one or two at first, but then they grow thicker until you are walking through a wood of them. All silver birch, healthy specimens with creamy white trunks. Soft grass grows on the ground and sheep walk among them, a conservation project to help protect this special place. The pale golden sunlight filtered through the thinning canopy and the gentle but cool breeze loosened golden leaves that spiralled to the ground. This is a special place indeed, and as I walked, I lingered here and there, simply struck by this place. Not just the beauty of it, but the feeling of it too.
Soon, though, the trees began to thin and then stop. A little way ahead, a single standing stone stood. Nothing spectacular, this single stone only a metre high might even be dismissed by the casual viewer, but to those in the know, this single stone is the kingston, the fiddler, and if you look just a little further, you will come upon the nine ladies.
This small stone circle might not be as visually impressive to some as some of the more well-known stone circles of which Stonehenge is perhaps the most famous, but it is beautiful nonetheless. There is a feeling to this place that some of the more well trodden sites lack, though those places too will feel different once the crowds have gone. I know this site too draws tourists. I’ve seen the snaps of them sitting and climbing on the stones, fun filled selfies and photographs, but on this day there was only me.
Folklore tells how the stones were once ladies, dancing ladies, the kingston their fiddler. These nine women were found guilty of dancing on the sabbath and so, for such a heinous crime, were condemned and turned to stone in punishment. For me, such a story links the struggle of woman to the struggle of the land, but I guess that’s another article for another day. All I will say though is that just as woman has been dominated, so too has the land. In these liminal times that is autumn, it is hard to ignore the interconnectedness of all things.
I circled the ladies thrice, deosil of course, before seating myself on the damp grass in the centre, and there I lost myself. I don’t know how long I sat there for, probably only around five minutes, no longer than ten, but time loses meaning in places such as this. And in that circle, sitting on the damp grass early in the morning, I came to an understanding. I knew what I had to do. You see, sometimes I struggle with the letting go of stuff. Perhaps it’s something most of us struggle with. We’re always told to try, to persevere, to strive no matter the cost, but what the dark half of the year teaches us, what nature teaches us, is that we must embrace letting things go. Just as the trees begin to let go of their leaves, just as nature begins to wind down and relinquish that which no longer serves them, so must we. Friendships can change and sour for no reason, people drift apart, relationships end, circumstances can stagnate. There is no honour nor glory, no payout for persevering with such things. Instead, we must simply let them go. This is what I learned sitting in the centre of that circle, though perhaps that isn’t entirely true, rather I always knew this, but like I said, sometimes I struggle with the letting go. But it is necessary to do this. As Samhain approaches, the third and final harvest, the blood harvest, we too must harvest that which is fruitful and cull that which will not survive.
These are the cycles of nature. This was the lesson I learned while sitting in the stone circle at the top of the world.
EMMA KATHRYN
Emma Kathryn, practises traditional British witchcraft, Vodou and Obeah, a mixture representing her heritage. She lives in the sticks with her family where she reads tarot, practises witchcraft and drink copious amounts of coffee.
You can follow Emma on Facebook.