It seems unusual that such architectural fragments and large stone relics should evoke feelings we have not felt anywhere else. Things that have remained perfectly in tact don't usually evoke the same delightful reactions .
With ruins we have this unique sense of inclusiveness. To the degree we pick up on the vibes of some lonely half fallen-down half-forgotten structure we have this assurance that we have not been left out. We are brought into the inner circle of appreciating.
'So this is what people mean by the allure of ruins!'
There is a quiet knowing. Maybe that's because stones are so quiet.
By being surrounded by stones are we brought closer to our roots perhaps? Never mind grass roots, we are getting back to 'stone roots'. We are feeling the past calling to us, if not calling, then at least waving to us. They have our number. It is not a wrong number.
The stones recognize us. They wonder if we recognize them. Some of us remember them fondly. I wonder, is the love of follies and ruins some sort of stone-induced feeling of nostalgia?