Friday, 25 November 2011
Cairns are dotted all over our hill grounds, built by shepherds years and years ago, probably when they were out there hefting sheep onto the ground, with others added over the years, many depict boundaries between cuts of sheep or even between neighbouring hill ground, they are like finger posts, directing you on your way.
Cairns come in various shapes and sizes, some extremely proffesionally built, others appearing to be nothing other than a pile of stones, they are all individuals in their own right.
The day I paused at this particular cairn I looked a bit closer than I normally would. The beast was alive - quite literally.
Rattling around on the bike my body had stiffened, backside was probably tenderised like a good steak, banging about for hours on the seat of the bike. Knees had been used to take the brunt of the biggest bumps, saving jarring the back. All in all I needed a stretch and due to this the cairn found itself being scrutinised in a way it had probably never been studied before. I could almost feel her blushes.
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