Passage to Eden

The road was just a path – hardly walked on, hardly seen. Though it had been cleared long ago, it wanted wear. If a hiker should come down upon it, it would be an easy path to tread, but, sadly, the road was empty.

It was decorated for travelers. The densely packed dirt – a warm, welcoming light brown color – cut through freshly cut grass. Just beyond the grass, pink bushes of flowers sat beneath and between large trees. These trees rose over the path, too. Their trunks were short, but their branches stretched out high above the path, until a branch from one side happily met a branch from the other; and so were all the branches entwined. The trees’ leaves were a bright yellow-green. Sunlight streamed in, somehow, past the yellow-green rooftop and the rafters of entwined branches, and it fell softly upon the grass and the path.

The path continued forever, or, at least, until the eye could see. If one squinted in the distance, he could imagine two lovers holding hands, enjoying this well-tended garden. But, sadly, the road was empty.