The Builders of Stonehenge — Sleep Podcast

 There is a particular hour on the Salisbury Plain when the light goes down to a soft amber and the wind does not so much blow as rest across the ground. It moves slow. It moves low. It folds around the long, low grass and lifts, here and there, a whisper of silver over the heads of the stalks, and then lets it go. If you were lying on that plain now, and it is evening, and the day has given its whole warmth to the turf beneath you, you could feel the field breathing out the last of the sun.