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.

Author’s note: Ever since I first heard about ley lines, I’ve been deeply fascinated by the concept of these mystical lines of energy running through the earth. For those who believe, landmarks such as Stonehenge, the Pyramids of Giza, Machu Picchu, and many more were all built on nodes at the intersections of ley lines, as if the concentration of their sacred energy drew humans to those sites.