The Walk of Life

His boots splashed in the middle of the puddles. It was a recent trend.

These rural roads had a lot of puddles. And the peace, oh the peace, as well.

That was the best part, the quiet joy of hiking

                by yourself, where nobody else had been.

The back roads were virgin lands-beautiful, and waiting to be explored.

Just looking at them was a sight to behold!

                Forests never walked in, their unassuming beauty never admired.

                Paths that no one had had the pleasure of walking down, at a leisurely pace.

                Of hills that nobody had anxiously climbed.

                Days that nobody had spent out on these lonely paths, the roads not taken.

It was pristine. The way it should be, really.

And that was the way the lone hiker liked it-nature, at its finest,

                and himself, being the only critic in the vast and open gallery.

                                The gallery that nature provided with its rich textures and colors.

Alone in it, submersed in it, engrossed in it.

It was glorious.