There is a road sitting beneath me. It chatters at me incessantly, prodding, suggesting, pointing the way. It is so charming, so sure of itself, so convinced that it is the way.
It is so difficult not to move with it, not to do its bidding.

I watch it stretch out into the fog, disappearing, alluring.

And then I turn to my left.

And stop.

Suddenly the road is quiet, for I have found enchantment in the stillness, in the unmoving.

I have found the way, and I need not move, for the road can haunt no man who has chosen to step aside.