Paths

Why do I love it when a path turns out of sight
Is it the trees that comfort me
The leaves that paint the way
That act like a signpost to say
Come this direction, come see me
Let me grace your chosen route
Through these divinely guarded roads
Protected by wood nymph
And other mystical dwellers there

Or is it that when I see the path no more
I anticipate the joy of finding
Of seeking and asking and hoping
Exploration is its own benefit
I choose the path that bends around
The tree and painted arch of leaves
And what I find on the other side
Perhaps a clearing, or more bends in the path
More mystery, more hope and anticipation
More experience.