He decided to go for a walk in the white weathered forest. Journeying his way out of man's labyrinth, he passed a lonely young child wandering home with no care for time or urgency. An old man barks in the cold at his daily labour.

As he reached the forest edge he heard the callings of the forests friends, weeping for the cheer of our delayed spring.
He found himself upon an untouched path covered in a sheet of white, the vast networks sleeping in the deep under. Like his life the path seemed to end abruptly and to the beginning of the void of open and virgin possibilities.
A short story by Robert Earle.