I couldn’t sleep, and neither could Denise. The sun woke us up when I had barely slept three hours. As for Denise, she had made up her sleep deficit during the day and now was sharp as a tack.

We drove to the stones of Stenness with the rosy glow of dawn behind us. The midnight sun bathed our shoulders and put haloes around our hair, and when we got out of the car in the middle of the wilderness, it compelled our silence.

We walked in silence for a while through this fantastic landscape, where the stones felt like a natural land feature, like they’ve been there forever, carved by the storms and the winds.

“Come on, Ethel! Not fun being old, eh?”

I was born two years before Denise, a detail she never forgets to highlight when she deems it relevant.

“See you in two years, Denise. I’ll remember to ask you then.”

“This is awesome!” My sister started running up the gentle slope, twirling and dancing like an ancient priestess entranced by her deity, charged by the monoliths. “I am the goddess of Stenness! I bid glad tidings to all the little people.”

She looked it too, a young goddess, one with the land, dancing with the grace of a willow branch.

“Dance, Betty Lou! Don’t be a stick in the mud! Dance with me!”