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As soon as histories are properly told there is no more need of romances. ~Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass

The Opposite of Solitude

I grew up in a country that was excited to mark its second centennial. Now I live in a place where I can touch a wall and walk roads built by Romans two thousand years ago. I’ve called home a castle whose stone stairs have seen a thousand years of other footsteps.

When I’m most alone, I’m most aware of the millennia of those who stood here too.

By myself, but never alone. Standing before one of the Machrie Moor Standing Stone rings spread over about two kilometers, I don't marvel at the feat of transporting massive stones (measuring as deep below the ground as above), or even the precision that aligns them with sunrise solstice. Instead I'm aware of the fact that for six thousand years, others have stood in this same spot to marvel. To share my awe. To be like me.

By myself, but never alone.
Standing before one of the Machrie Moor Standing Stone rings spread over about two kilometers on Scotland’s Isle of Arran, I don’t marvel at the feat of transporting massive stones (measuring as deep below the ground as above), or even the precision that aligns them with sunrise solstice. Instead I’m aware of the fact that for six thousand years, others have stood in this same spot to marvel. To share my awe. To be like me.

I’m really not a photographer, but Cathy’s beautiful post spoke to me today. I thought I might try Hugh’s photo challenge this week, with the theme of solitude.

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