I get the same feeling when I look at an empty farm house coming home late at night from west Texas as I do standing in front of an ancient ruin in England. I want to know the stories; all of them. Lives lived, lives lost yet the structure remains. It talks, just not my language. I speak today and it speaks yesterday.
Empty buildings attract those interested in stories. Some see decay or abandonment but all ruins demand a closer look in search of the hiddden story, any story. Just when I think I can reach its meaning it flees. Like shifting sands in the Sahara it stays just out of my reach. I am left unfulfilled. What happened to the builders? What happened here important that was forgotten? What interesting stories could the remains tell if I could hear? What secrets do they hold? Why was it abandoned and never recovered?
I stood at Stonehenge and listened. The quiet was eerie and unsettling. I couldn’t reach what I wanted to understand. Was it respect for those who built it? Was it wonder and amazement for building whatever it is without modern technology?
I stood at Hadrian’s Wall and looked across the landscape as the stones snaked their way across ridges and valleys in the distance. All alone standing on the wall with nothing but the wind I felt insecure, fearful and unsettled. I recognized my own insignificance. After 2,000 years the Roman wall remains while all my fences are in disrepair.
The bench in front of Conwy Castle was empty. A promise made was broken as I walked away. Afraid of what I might discover in that moment of reflection to which I committed I chose instead to drive. Ignoring the imaginary stories that called my name I walked hurriedly to my car. Another ruin awaits, and another.
ukthrumyeyes 