There must have been a road here once, two, and the stone marks the junction. I touch the cold moss, my feet buried in bracken, and wonder how long since anyone walked these roads, since there were roads to walk. The trees grow close, overhanging what might have been a clearing. Not a clearing, a long tunnel of trees stretching north and south. I turn, see the same green tunnel running east and west. The light is soft and full of shadows. Green. Gentle.
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