Stonehenge

I am in the Stonehenge car park looking out at the surrounding fields. All the long grass is bright yellow, like piss. There are tiny little crispy wildflowers, I can see them when I squint. Some of them are dark purple, some are brown and crumbling. A man in wraparound sunglasses is smoking under the boot of his car, a woman in an English Heritage polo shirt comes up to tell him to put his cigarette out properly — wildfires you see, he shouldn’t really be smoking at all but, what can you do. Piss yellow as far as the eye can see, all the way out to the horizon. I cannot believe my own eyes. It looks like something from a film, maybe a dystopian future, or some apocalyptic vision, zombieverse — as I am thinking these trite thoughts, another thought interrupts to point out that I am just trying to find a likeness to explain something I find incomprehensible. I think then about the water wars. I think about Mad Max and Immortan Joe turning on the big skull shaped tap in the citadel, the…