The path was
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
So she stopped.
Because that's what you're
when you get lost.