A brown narrow path cutting the green field into half, like the middle binding of the book, breaking and making a story at the same time, runs through into the woods. Sometimes straight, sometimes curvy representing its emotions at stages. People think that it will lead them somewhere. How humans trust a path more than their kins sometimes. Knowingly and unknowingly, they create and preserve the path, knowingly and unknowingly showing the right or the wrong direction. In rain, the path is muddy, water puddled in potholes, nuisance for adults, adventure of the littles. Narrow, wide, short, long, right, wrong are its familiar neighbors. Sometimes too many and sometimes all alone, sometimes has a partner too, some lucky paths. They will live till they are used, else nature will take back its righteous belonging, i.e a piece of land, and one scar less made by the humans.

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