What Britannia's knights could not budge, clever Merlin portered Stonehenge over to Salisbury Plain by the glib sorcery privy only to the brilliantly lazy. In memory of those peaceably practicing death, and in consideration of those suffering life, Merlin arranged the trilithons into a harmonious geometry so as to bring good health to those in pain.
The possible ills it could cure were many: bloody flux, hysteria, leprosy, the ague, menstruation, nits, the black plague, the red plague, and all things ranging from phlegmy to choleric. Stonehenge, an instrument of magic, and magic, an expression of the divine, healed only ailments spiritual in nature -- barring misfortune ordained by the heavens, understandably.
How it healed them, none knew. Maybe the stones' approximate circles coerced the Prime Mover to deliver equally approximate relief. Maybe some then-undetectable penicillin stowed away on the sarsen stones. Maybe Merlin was indeed a bastard spawned between a incubus and a princess, borne with an armory of spells capable of transporting and enchanting this superstitious pile of rocks known as Stonehenge. Full of as much modesty as guile, the charalatan or wizard known as Merlin sought no credit for this boon, as he was already preserved in the formaldehyde of superior legends.
These things historical, among many things responsible, AGW & Sons Construction Co. never considered.
Important interstates overran England, leaving only a few idyllic pastures strewn about for historic landmarks. The foremen orchestrated a fleet of bulldozers and cranes into the crude snort and swing of civil construction, conducting the the wrath of Man. An operator dressed in day-glow orange garb sneezed, jerking a lever, loosing the wrecking ball. The highway overhead pass collapsed, toppling Stonehenge like playing cards. AGW & Sons restored all those big old rocks to just about the right vicinities.
The possible ills it could cure were many: bloody flux, hysteria, leprosy, the ague, menstruation, nits, the black plague, the red plague, and all things ranging from phlegmy to choleric. Stonehenge, an instrument of magic, and magic, an expression of the divine, healed only ailments spiritual in nature -- barring misfortune ordained by the heavens, understandably.
How it healed them, none knew. Maybe the stones' approximate circles coerced the Prime Mover to deliver equally approximate relief. Maybe some then-undetectable penicillin stowed away on the sarsen stones. Maybe Merlin was indeed a bastard spawned between a incubus and a princess, borne with an armory of spells capable of transporting and enchanting this superstitious pile of rocks known as Stonehenge. Full of as much modesty as guile, the charalatan or wizard known as Merlin sought no credit for this boon, as he was already preserved in the formaldehyde of superior legends.
These things historical, among many things responsible, AGW & Sons Construction Co. never considered.
Important interstates overran England, leaving only a few idyllic pastures strewn about for historic landmarks. The foremen orchestrated a fleet of bulldozers and cranes into the crude snort and swing of civil construction, conducting the the wrath of Man. An operator dressed in day-glow orange garb sneezed, jerking a lever, loosing the wrecking ball. The highway overhead pass collapsed, toppling Stonehenge like playing cards. AGW & Sons restored all those big old rocks to just about the right vicinities.
As cranes suspended the elements of Stonehenge in the sky, the dumbstruck tourists knew they were witnessing a marvelous spectacle, so they embraced intimate silence such spectacles encourage. Pirouetting against the squall of the English autumn, Stonehenge exposed its audience to a barrage of magics not Merlin nor the Prime Mover nor AGW & Sons Construction Co. anticipated. Like clueless druids, the onlookers awaited answers from inanimate stone.
Stonehenge deciphered the stifled words of lovers' hearts.
Stonehenge afflicted many with agnosticism.
Stonehenge placed White Noise as second at today's pony race.
Stonehenge recommended Highway A344 as a detour considering recent events.
Stonehenge admitted Merlin was just an old fabulist.
Stonehenge admitted it was just a pile of rocks.
The crane lowered Stonehenge whereupon it remained silent for the rest of its ageless days.
1 comment:
interstate? in Britain? methinkst not!
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