Cartwheels at Stonhenge

I can not help but turn cartwheels

in front of the ancient pillars

of The Great Stone Henge

the magic of the place

raises the hairs on the back of my hand

and I must express the thrill somehow

so I leap and twirl and press my hands

onto the sacred turf

while the sheep bleat in a nearby field

as they have for generations

I find that the wind is different here

alive and spritely

making sure with a flicker of mischief

that your hair will not lie flat for pictures

no matter how many tries you take

I breathe in the smell of

moss and rock weathered by

innumerable raindrops

as the earth and grass is trampled beneath

great snakes of humanity

in multicolored windbreakers

winding round and round

each having their own experience

on this once communal ground

what would happen if we put down our cameras

and black plastic audio wands

what if we joined hands as was intended

in the beginning

what if we noticed one another

maybe then we would understand the mystery

that the sheep already know