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