Remember those days when we could just follow a trail and see where it took us? The whispers of the wind became our maps, the rustling leaves our guidebooks. Sometimes, I wonder what paths others have walked, echoes fading into the twilight.
Here, on this footpath, pebbles tell stories of long-lost travelers—like the man who wore a crown of daisies and danced with shadows. Or the child who found a key that opened... well, nobody ever found out what that key opened.
Sometimes, you might hear the laughter of unseen figures. But it's just the trees, they say, being mischievous again. Or so the old stories go.
Each step forward could lead to a new surprise. Or, perhaps, just an echo of the steps you left behind. It's all part of the adventure, isn't it? Just remember, when you see a flicker in the bushes, it might be a friend, or maybe just the moon playing tricks.