Burial Mound

It would be a disaster! What would? The defacing of the burial stones. Who am I communing with? The council. Ahh, that's not as mysterious as I'd hoped. I might not have gone into the burial mound. I certainly didn't fancy it at first mention. It's why I pondered bad juju but in reality it was peaceful. I've always wondered why there's any idea that ghosts and spirits would choose certain places to haunt. I heard once that the new occupant of my Nanna's house made claims it was haunted and I vehemently believe no relation of mine would haunt a no mark such as them (they may be perfectly nice, I've never met them but Google maps shows they took down the tree my Grandad planted that I carved my initials into as a child. Perhaps they were haunted by me via the medium of Google maps in an inadvertent bad juju moment? If so, I'm not sorry. They should be more respectful than consider themselves worthy of haunting when I'm sat there with a ton of stuff to fill many an hour of conversational haunting with a loved one.) Where am I in space and time? Ahh yes, yesterday at the top of a cliff. It's so incredibly windy that it's magical. The Irish Sea is so rough that it's created bubbles that float to the cliff edges. All noise stops dead at the entrance to the burial mound. Very atmospheric. It is from 2500 BC and was used for generations. I couldn't train my eyes onto the carvings - perhaps they aren't visible to everyone (da da daaaa although I imagine that would change if someone pointed at them... Perhaps it's still magic. We've never quite investigated the power of pointing at things. I think there's something in that.) Bones, duty, grieving, remoteness - how interesting this promotes serenity. I have little more to say.