I mean, really, if you get lost in a corn maze and you are such a hopeless loser that you call the police to come get you, shouldn’t you be fed to “Samhain, Lord of the Dead“? But then Midwest Chick offers another possible solution.
Sort of related: I passed by this commercial corn maze / pony ride / pumpkin patch northeast of Denver on my recent road trip, only the sign said “Corn Maize.” I am still wondering if that was a brilliant pun or just semi-literate spelling.
By their natures, mazes dishevel the habitual manner through which we make our way from place to place. That is what makes us different after we have journeyed a maze than we were before. There’s some magic to a maze and to entering and exiting it.
What gets to me about walled mazes is the claustrophobia of it…
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