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