The best road is often the one that isn’t there. A simple path will sometimes do the job, connecting beginning to end, past to present, season to season.
Unless it’s muddy. Then the problem is more apparent than the poetry, the surface more consuming of our time than our attention, and we begin to understand the allure of pavement and simple a-to-b logic.
Taken to the extreme, however, concrete constructions, whether material or mental, tend to rob us of over the hills and through the woods in favor of another four lanes of fast-food franchises.
And I, for one, want so much more than fries with that.