Once upon a time, there were tracks on the autumn-dead earth, a stark contrast of brown footprints against the ashen landscape. People stopped to stare, half-expecting to see the mystery unfold before their eyes. Every morning, they came back—only to see footprints stretching endlessly into the fog, leading nowhere.
The town buzzed with theories: a wanderer lost in untold thoughts, a phantom of forgotten stories, or perhaps a sign—of what, no one could say. Curiosity blanketed reason as the same questions echoed: Who? Why? Where to?
Strange, how the mundane weaves such enigma out of the ordinary. Footfalls without a destination, an echo of our own paths, yet left untouched by understanding. Beneath the tracks, as hidden as the answers, lay the simple truth.
Like the footprints, read more about unrealized paths:
Invisible Paths: My Stories
Questions Unasked