It means "a hanging rock that is made of rock"

 As I was preparing to brief my students on the history of Stonehenge, I discovered that the Saxon word "henge" originally meant "a hanging rock or precipice."  So "Stonehenge" literally means (somewhat redundantly) "a hanging rock made of rock."  This little tautological detail is so uncharacteristic of the Saxons, who bequeathed us a startling repertory of punchy, economical words (most of them of the monosyllabic, 4-letter variety) that carry remarkable power and emotional weight.

 There's not much to photograph at Stonehenge except stones and tourists.  Because our arrival coincided with the most atrocious weather imaginable--wind and rain of a ferocity not heretofore seen in this Fair Isle--there were much more of the former than the latter.

 Many foreign visitors to Stonehenge are disappointed by the stones' size, or lack of it more particularly.  I never was.  I still think the site is remarkably impressive in heft and historical majesty.  What's disappointing is its proximity to the trappings of modern civilization.  Here is the view through the coach's front window from the car park, past the road and chain-link fence, to Stonehenge.  Loses some of its romance, doesn't it?  (Maybe Tess of the d'Ubervilles wouldn't have had such a hard time at Stonehenge if there'd been a dozen busloads of Japanese tourists there.  Then again, they may have just taken a million photos and moved on, leaving poor Tess to her tragic but now well-documented end.)

This pretty much says it all.  My scarf has been animated in lively fashion by the wind.  H's umbrella has blown inside out.  E is vainly trying to stay warm, and C is so amused by our comically-distressed situation that she's actually smiling in a photo!