Sunrise at summer solstice blinds any human about to be sacrificed on the altar at Stonehenge in Maryhill, Washington. Sam Hill built the astronomically-correct structure as a memorial to the young men of Klickitat County who died in World War I. I thought I’d greet the summer there, but I was not alone. I figured there might be a few oddballs in addition to myself. However, I did not expect what I witnessed.
In the dim light 30 minutes before sunrise, there were about 5 people in a circle holding hands before the altar. That’s cool. Some peaceful contemplation, I thought. Maybe some peace-loving folks praying for the world in their own way.
It got interesting a few minutes later: more cars and people. Some rushing about putting things in order: a burn pot in the center, candles at certain locations. Then, I see a few people put on sheets that could have been purchased at a KKK garage sale. Oh boy, I thought. No dunce caps, however. Instead, a yellow pointed collar, as if the dunce cap was turned upside down and tied around the neck, front and back sides.
A couple others arrived by motorcycle with an odd insignia on the back of the leather jackets: “Illuminati” something. Others were dressed with wool caps, jackets, and other normal clothing.
I’m angling for the best shot of sunrise, but sheet-clad priests have the best spots staked out. At the precise moment, the rag-tag group follows the beat of a drum and their Druid-meister into the circles that constitute Stonehenge. A couple times around, and they settle behind the altar. Then, they do their thing. Singing from the druid cantor, recitations in some language not known to me. In a language I did understand, I heard some stuff about free will, smiting enemies with magic . . . I’m shooting pictures where I can, knowing I’m probably making them uncomfortable, but they are in my way, monopolizing a public place.
At some point I’m back behind the altar because the sun actually appears, despite a few clouds. The little army troops around the circle again. The one motorcycle dude whispers, urgently, “No pictures!”
I say, “I’m not shooting you; I’m shooting the sunrise.”
The other member of the Illuminati motorcycle gang of two passes. With crazy eyes, he declares, “No pictures of the ceremony!”
I ask, “Do you own the place?”
I considered adding, “What? Are you gonna smite me with magic?” Then, I thought that maybe these guys got up too early and missed their medication. It might not be wise to further piss off people who are engaged in a ceremony that preaches killing enemies around a replica of a human sacrifice alter. I had these visions of two dozen misfits making me their target, much like the Illinois Nazis targeted the Blues Brothers. I don’t need a Druid-Meister ordering the Illuminati motorcycle gang to murder me and take my Nikon Coolpix. I did not want nightmares of a small car loaded with large Druid-Priests in their KKK-inspired-Mama-Cass-moo-moos trying to run me over while I’m bicycling. So, I backed off for awhile. Then, I got the shot above, with Druid litter in the foreground.
But if anyone REALLY wants photos of a secret Druid ceremony performed in public, let me know.
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