Supposed.

The path was

supposed 

to be followed.

Maybe a little meandering for some ripe berries

or a daisy or two.

But the path was a path of brilliancy.

It curved through delicate timbers

and rapid rivers

and had such spectacular views 

it was impossible to imagine 

if the path ever ended

and if it did

or did not

how much more spectacular it should be

around the bends. 

But one day she looked down and there wasn't a path. 

She couldn't remember straying.

She couldn't remember being distracted.

She couldn't remember being absent minded. 

She just suddenly

wasn't 

on 

it. 

So she stopped. 

Because that's what you're 

supposed 

to do

when you get lost.