we follow the trackway
across the moor
to the stone circle

it’s hat hot
stands of foxgloves
wild pink, high
against the rocks

this way, I think

nearer, a drone
strims the air
then – tents in a clearing
a pyramid of trash
two guys in dreads
one on a phone
happy solstice says the other

two elderly guys in round ranger hats
trekking poles planted
a woman cross-legged weaving bracelets
the power of circles
is this why we come?
drawn to see
to eat, and drink
while the nine stones
keep their counsel
deep set, slow,
further than the stars
me of no more
matter than
this apple core