Unseen hands have tied coloured ribbons to an oak tree at the foot of a whale-backed hill. Whoever crossed the chalk stream to fasten these pretty streamers in red, blue, gold and white found meaning in this place or with the people who came here before – those unknowables who lugged boulders many times their own weight to the top more than 5,000 years ago.
We make the ascent, along a modern processional path between fields of wheat to where they fashioned their mound mausoleum. I dwell, as I invariably do at archaeological sites, on the wild bridge between peoples past and present. There are skylarks here, and when they are not skittering across the ground, they rise and rise.
