Big Rocks and Sheep: Stonehenge and the Fate of History

I had a close, personal encounter with a sheep the other day. Yards behind me was a circular formation of massive stones dragged hundreds of miles by ancient persons sometime before history began. Nevertheless, there I stood, transfixed by a sheep less than half my age and with as much ancient mysticism as a peanut. Simple things for the simple minded, I guess. It cocked its head at me, and I ended up making unusual faces at it in the hopes of luring it toward me. I didn't have a plan after that, really; perhaps I'd poke it and see what happened.

That, in a nutshell, was my experience at Stonehenge. Anyone else notice the lack of, oh, Stonehenge in all of that? Kassie and I stumbled out of the taxi at 7:45 in the morning, our wallets twelve quid lighter and our brains barely functioning in the early morning hours. We trudged through the entrance and through the plains toward the formation of which I'd only ever seen photos. Granted, it was a fascinating sight. The sheer engineering prowess involved in creating such a masterpiece is bound to wow someone who can barely operate a microwave.

My travel buddy and I expected to be floored by some sort of religious awakening, some deep emotional jolt to ebb through the very chasms of our souls...what we got was a large wooden sign that read, "Welcome to Stonehenge." Well no shit, Sherlock. It's not as if I randomly encountered the damn thing and asked myself, "What on Earth is that?"

"What exactly is a henge, anyway?" Kassie asked me as we approached the monument. I said I didn't know, and that maybe it meant "circle."

"So it's called Stone Circle? Couldn't they have been more creative than that?"