lane
The road itself, was immortal.
Countless people had crossed it,
Countless others would
eventually come
This truth was one of only a few
That the road had always known
For it held no memory, save for the places
where wind and rain had etched deep
patterns, over years, into it's sides
The road could feel through
expressions
through the plants and grass
through winds playing through flowers
The road could show great joy
It had grown large fruit trees
Shading travelers
Feeding them
Providing respite
The road was happy