In the woods behind the schoolhouse was a narrow track that wound off towards the near hills. I had followed it many times before until it became obscure. Unable to determine a viable route forward, I’d turn around, only to discover the route out itself branching and confused. At that point, I had no sense what path led into the woods and what path led out of them. But despite this, each day I would find myself back again at the schoolhouse and walking full of hope into the woods. I felt certain that I would find my way through to the near hills. Even when the path broke down, even when I was hesitant and unsure, I expected to rediscover the proper way at any instant. The repetition made no difference. It scarcely touched me. I was convinced that nothing could prevent me from walking where I intended. Now that I appear to be actually elsewhere, I realise that I was completely mistaken.