(...) But I always had a doubt regarding the composition of the darkness of the Red Road.
What if I had come down from the bike to get closer and see what was hidden there? What if it was much more than just a huge black spot?
In fact, clearly the path I had walked was so clean because of the contrast with that blackness, like a knife cutting through the surface of an endless gloom.
Too easy. That had to be thought of. So geometric, so clean ... a human brain must placed there for the fools who do not want to know any more than necessary and are happy to follow the line and get no scratches going back home. It was obvious that I was not the first to visit that site; someone was there before and wanted me to circulate by the path he designed as his puppet.
Someone had gone into the woods and knew more than me now. They’d walked along the shadows, trying to adjust or control them, seeking their logic, projecting their own, opening up a thousand other less immediate ways than mine.
Reality was there, outside, leaving the easy way; the Red Road was nothing more than a trap.
Something told me that I would never grow up until I got into, and adapted to that shadow.
