The interior of the large stone circle was littered with small huts, some more elaborate than others. This one has an entryway, which is where the men of 4000 years ago would leave their umbrellas when returning home to their overstuffed chair.
And the same hut, from a different perspective.
And the ponies of the moor, eating grass from between the stones of the ancient wall that surrounded this village.
Three stone huts, lined up in perfect symmetry, this must be the very first version of a tract home. And hey, it’s even in a gated community.
My mother decided to climb up the slope to the tor looking down on the stone circle of Grimspound.
At which time it promptly started to rain sideways. So she hid behind the stones on top of the tor.
From this picture, it doesn’t look like it, but the rain was poring sideways. It came from the west, and I could feel the freezing drops splash against my eardrum, as the sideways wind tried to slide me off the slippery wet stones.
We both finally made it to the car, dripping wet, with my jacket soaked through. But happily, because of my wellies, my feet were dry.
I think I succeeded in finding my stone huts.