A grouping of Wishing Stones arranged so that their “good luck” lines all join together.
Although we live in California, my wife has a family homestead on the northern coast of Maine, which we visit oft en. One autumn, on a particularly overcast, cold and windy morning that hinted of winter, we walked along the steely gray North Atlantic with eyes glued to the pebble-strewn beach.
A local greeted us and asked what we were doing. “Beachcombing for pretty rocks,” we replied. Whereupon she asked, “Then why are you leaving behind all these Wishing Stones?” “Wishing Stones?” we asked. She bent and picked out a drab gray rock with a belt of white quartz. “Wishing Stones,” she repeated.