Where Ley Lines Meet

Illustration by author using photo by Marek Szturc from Unsplash

The lines converge on a circle of primeval pine not far from the rocky shores of the New England coast. The scarred trunks are decorated in crudely carved variations of, “Johnny + Amanda” and, “Killroy was here.”

Upon closer inspection, my fingers discover much older markings on the ancient trunks. Faint sigils, inscribed by Wampanoag shamans, Gaelic druids, Viking seers, and even a glyph etched into the wood by a witch of Salem.

I walk to the center of the ring and lie on the broad, moss-covered granite boulder, likely deposited here by a glacier some 20,000 years ago.

The wind whispers to me in a long-forgotten language. I don’t understand the words, but I sense their warning.

I should go.

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