The footpath edges were made shaggy by the undergrowth, already lying dark green from the summer sun. The mud was pale, almost the hue of clay with only the occasional lazy stone.
The footpath was rutted, the soft spring mud had dried in the first heat of the new season leaving casts of every shoe. Amy picked her way over with care, mindful of what a twisted ankle would mean to the rest of her journey.
The footpath, though winding, remained the exact same width. The grey pea shingle was pale in the morning light and the recent rain gave a gloss to the wooden edges.
The footpath flowed through the bluebells, the incline so gentle that Izzy barely noticed that she was climbing a hill. Her feet fell to the earth softly, each step barely audible beneath the early morning birdsong.
The path was intertwined with thick tree roots. The light that beamed through the tree foliage was green. The hidden path was tucked away, in the depths of the forest. It swerved back and forth unpredictable. The path was remarkably clear, for one so rarely traveled. Curls of vibrant green ivy lined the narrow path. Mighty trees arched over it. This understated path was the only way to the crystal oasis.
The footpath meandered through the woodland, weaving it's way through the strong scent of wild garlic, passing by bluebells and snowdrops and being completely buried beneath a canopy of newly emerging buds and blossoming trees. Hoof-prints and footprints were trodden into the overused dirt path that seemed to continue forever; each muddy print unlocking a memory of days gone by.
The dusty path wound itself around rolling hills. It sloped up and down. The sun shone with a cherry yellow radiance onto the path. A cow lowed contently in the distance as Anne snatched a purple flower from its stem. The area was so serene and lovely. The rarely traveled path took her to places that no one else would.