Shakespeare Sonnet 73... "Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang”

After my visit to Stonehenge which included a lunch stop in Salisbury and shopping in Bath, where rows of buildings are made out of sandstone and nothing is painted except for doors, I headed toward my next destination. My flu bug going into full swing, I slept on the tour bus. A month prior, in keeping with English themes, I had devoured reading Holy Blood, Holy Grail, in one sitting until the wee hours, engulfed by the conspiracy theory with my taste for the occult and anything that concerns the unexplainable. With a fascination toward myths and legends I was on my way to Glastonbury, a city which has been a New Age community, rich in history.


A notable landmark is Glastonbury Tor, a Celtic word that means hill. It's where King Arthur and Lady Guinevere coffins were discovered, and may be a possible location for the Holy Grail, since Joseph of Arimathea is said to have arrived in Glastonbury, stuck his staff into the ground, and when it flowered miraculously it became Glastonbury Tor. Also, the presence of an astrological landscape zodiac around the town has been carved along the hedgerows and trackways along with a collection of ley lines. It's an enchanting place with amazing streets lined with alternative shops filled with crystals, gems stones, mineral baths, funky clothes, cafes with homemade food, books, paintings, and hand crafted products. I saw ads for healers, meditation, yoga, drumming classes, and festivals of just about everything imaginable.


After I arrived having spent a day in bed nursing myself back to equilibrium, I couldn't get myths and mystery out of my head and went for a walk to Glastonbury Abbey to visually take in the ruins. On the grounds I saw a tree that contained the Holy Thorn, pronounced dead earlier in the year and cut months after my fortuitous visit.