I’m off to Stonehenge, 5000 or so years ago to discover its secrets and solve its mysteries.
I was there once a mere three years ago, surrounded by gawking tourists, shivering in the cool misty fall air, with an electronic device pressed hard to my ear. A droning voice spewed forth a lot of garbled information to my brain but not much of it found a place there to firmly lodge itself. Later I read a book on the subject, but as interesting as all of it is, there’s altogether too much conjecture and speculation and not enough hard facts to suit me.
So I’d like to see for myself how and why it was built. Find out who is buried there, observe whatever ceremonies were conducted amongst the great stones. Find out why it fell into ruins and its history got lost.
In the allotted hour (which I’m assuming is present time minutes, and that I’ll somehow have to skip 60 minutes of my life as it is presently being lived) I expect I’ll have to zip back and forth several hundred years every five or ten minutes to get it all straight. And knowing me it’s entirely possible that I’ll be just as confused when I get back as when I left.
Maybe some things were meant to remain a mystery, if only to stimulate the imagination.