copyright Piya Singh
The sun sets on twenty drunken college students dancing in the cabin, with bass deep enough to shake the stone circle nearby.
It’s a great success. It’s my cabin after all, an inheritance from my grandmother, the one who gave me this old necklace.
The party spills outside around midnight. Dozens, then scores of men and women gyrate among the stones to the pounding music that is now coming from the ground itself.
The sun rises on me, naked except for Grandma’s old necklace. I’m alone in the stone circle, beer cans mingled with mead cups and carved drinking horns.
Read about the real Merry Maidens
The Green-Walled Tower 