It was a bonny path that chattered day and night, the free leaves upon it and their twig-attached brethren in seasonal conversation.
The path had a way of greeting the soles, solid and warm.
The path was both light and deep, the spring sun interwoven with the shelter of the trees.
The path had a way of exciting the emotions, as if it realised an adventure was afoot.
The path before our feet felt as an invitation to our soles, that it wanted us to travel it and find out what lay upon it.
The path is a silk scarf over green hills; it undulates with the earth, leading into the horizon of land meeting sky. It could have been woven for thousands of years, perhaps in a place where time is truly forever, a place of eternal serenity. Each footfall is cushioned from below and the next encouraged, for this is a path given to the walker, to the one who loves adventure and a chance to follow the rising sun.
Upon the path, the dappled light made a merry morphing mosaic of nature's gifts.