"..The morning after the festival a disparate group of no more than twenty or so people sat atop one of the most unique pieces of down-land anywhere; the previous night and all the preceding day they had been engaged in music, dance and song, the sun had blazed back off the exposed chalk and flint sculptures, the wind and glare spanking our cheeks into an ancient blush.
Fire had blazed amid, the dance itself...
..and that morning we sat,
At first unsure then; "We are upon the ocean surely?"
Islands in a sea of rolling white and vestigial grey, islands,
The heat grew first, I swear a hand upon my shoulder; "He comes, The Sun King comes!"
Arms out-stretched to the stars he comes,
Heat a lick upon the face, the whisper to the heart he comes,
Burning the moisture from the air he comes;
"My blood, my Earth gone from me now, torn out!"
From The East...from the east..." G.Hales