I think it was just like a torch, especially in a sunny day. I imagine no trees, high grass and all those tiny bushes… and this stone shining.
Where it a mark for people, for many years? Did they know who was buried here, or maybe they had only legends? Is it why they left those marks?
Gladsax… more questions than answers. And a small deer suddenly jumping from our feet. Windy day, all those spirits whispering… Neolithic grave and marks which nowadays you would call: destroying a monument.
Archaeologist usually call it just… chronology of a site.
Because we got to remember, that everything goes on. Not only shows must go on… Nature is not into stopping. Death means life, life means death. We are really in this circle like small hamsters, running. Making same mistakes.
Depressing, isn’t it?