Stone Me

One of my little rituals is to walk up to the village every Sunday morning to buy a Sunday paper. This morning, as usual, I passed by the cottage with the trilithon in the front garden.
It’s not a full-size trilithon, obviously; all of two feet high, it’s made from two six-inch wide slabs of granite stood on end, with a third slab balanced on top. And I always wonder what it is supposed to be. Is it someone’s attempt at a rustic garden seat? A souvenir of a visit to Stonehenge? A homage to Spinal Tap? It’ss impossible to say – with the sort of people who settle around here, it could be any of them!