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Silbury Hill
Nov. 7th, 2010 01:20 amAs we came over the crest of the ridge, the sunset light swept upwards from the low grey clouds like a crown over Silbury Hill. We scattered some ashes in memory of the last time we were there, in the late afternoon golden hour instead of gathering dusk.
We had timed the start of our assault perfectly, and at my insistance, we took a couple of minutes to remove any bright articles of clothing. Humming the "Mission Impossible" theme, I ducked first through the barbed wire. I confidently dropped the rucksacks across the electric fence and took a big stride over, but took a zap to the wobbly inner thigh. Mum had the bright idea of using the map to pull the top strand down, and so saved us any further tasings. Across the sheep field, over another electric fence and through a final barbed wire barrier, and then a scramble to the top.
I reached the abrupt summit first, and sprawled flat on my back in some lush grass. The sky seemed to go on forever in every direction, and for a moment, all noise receded save for the wind, and it felt eerily like I was completely alone in the world. It was as though I'd been placed on an alter as an offering from the earth to the sky. I felt completely and gratefully open.
The traffic noise returned, and I sat up to see Mum arrive at the top. We looked at the view, and saw that the man-made hill does indeed sit in the centre of a gentle bowl of hills. We completed our simple ritual, and left without fuss.
As we got to the bottom, we noticed a group of people standing around at the official viewing point. They seemed to be there a long time, as we climbed over the fence and walked towards the car park, and although their faces were pale blurs in the dusk, I could sense their disapproval. They left their post at just such a time as they might intercept us as we returned to the car. Keen to avoid a ticking-off by people who didn't understand our motives, we lurked outside the car park and then ducked through the trees and over another fence to avoid them.
We high-fived to celebrate a mission accomplished.
We had timed the start of our assault perfectly, and at my insistance, we took a couple of minutes to remove any bright articles of clothing. Humming the "Mission Impossible" theme, I ducked first through the barbed wire. I confidently dropped the rucksacks across the electric fence and took a big stride over, but took a zap to the wobbly inner thigh. Mum had the bright idea of using the map to pull the top strand down, and so saved us any further tasings. Across the sheep field, over another electric fence and through a final barbed wire barrier, and then a scramble to the top.
I reached the abrupt summit first, and sprawled flat on my back in some lush grass. The sky seemed to go on forever in every direction, and for a moment, all noise receded save for the wind, and it felt eerily like I was completely alone in the world. It was as though I'd been placed on an alter as an offering from the earth to the sky. I felt completely and gratefully open.
The traffic noise returned, and I sat up to see Mum arrive at the top. We looked at the view, and saw that the man-made hill does indeed sit in the centre of a gentle bowl of hills. We completed our simple ritual, and left without fuss.
As we got to the bottom, we noticed a group of people standing around at the official viewing point. They seemed to be there a long time, as we climbed over the fence and walked towards the car park, and although their faces were pale blurs in the dusk, I could sense their disapproval. They left their post at just such a time as they might intercept us as we returned to the car. Keen to avoid a ticking-off by people who didn't understand our motives, we lurked outside the car park and then ducked through the trees and over another fence to avoid them.
We high-fived to celebrate a mission accomplished.
