As a child I wore out the pages of a book describing the ancient wonders of the world and Stonehenge, in particular, set my imagination ablaze.
A couple of winters ago while I was visiting cousins in London, I was offered an opportunity to see mythic Stonehenge. As my uncle and cousin drove me to the Salisbury Plain of Wiltshire, the sky darken rapidly. Rain was certain. We managed to arrive at the prehistoric stone circle before the deluge. My cousin and I wandered the path around the ancient burial grounds and I was filled with wonder. I was here. Then the rain began to beat down hard and most people ran for cover. I lingered for as long as I could, my glasses fogging, my face and parka wet. Not even the rain could dampen the magic of seeing with my own eyes a picture from my childhood dreams.