Fraternity of Rock (Beehive Huts, Dingle Peninsula, Ireland) The huts sit squat, tight, huddling in a pack, looking onto a pewtered Atlantic, its silver sheen a shining offset to the dull grey stone of beehive with its lichen stickers. No thaw from the cold of millennia, their portals lion-less Mycenean gates. Stone upon careful stone, slice-packed, stacked, each a lintel for the other. The fraternity of rock, a rounded rising to celestial dome. Hearth, spirit-dwelling, bulwark and bunker against rain, wind fury, ice … the inimical. Community and congregation traverse curved wall, rise from earthen floor. Gods were sought here,…