You have to follow a path and at first it's wide and easy to follow but then it's like Robert Frost. On the trail less traveled the leaves brush against your skin and clothes. It gets narrower and soon you're at a darker place, deep under the trees, and it smells like earth. A small stream is running through and a big, big maple hangs over. This is a good place to stop and it seems a bit like childhood. It's a place to build a bridge to Teribithia; a place of pretend and rope swings; a place of discovery. If you listen, though, you can hear the river calling so you jump across the stream and keep going, leaving this place behind. The path is obscured with branches and dense like a jungle but it gets brighter ahead and soon you emerge at the river. You stand at a bend and it's wide and slow, but this is mostly a river that moves. She climbs and splashes down boulders and eddies around logs and has all these different voices - the soft and slow, the crash and the roar